


(Don’t want to let you down but I am) Hell bound

by slf630



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Bottom Sam, First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Reluctant Dean Winchester, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 10:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slf630/pseuds/slf630
Summary: Dean is hit with a fuck or die curse. Will he let Sam help him before it's too late?





	(Don’t want to let you down but I am) Hell bound

**Author's Note:**

> A million years ago I promised the amazing Darcy a fuck or die fic for her birthday. Then RL fell apart and I’m a horrible friend. This is FINALLY that fic. So sorry for the long, long, looooong delay, m'dear.
> 
> We all know that my ability to come up with titles sucks so... Title from the song Demons by Imagine Dragon (A very wincest-y song indeed)

For one heart-stopping second, when Dean didn’t come back to the motel after interviewing half of the witnesses on their latest hunt, Sam thought for sure that the demon was back, that he’d somehow failed and either Dean has been playing him all this time or whatever evil was still inside him – from that damn Mark – had turned him back into a demon. Sam was ready to call the hunt, get someone else on it and tear the fucking planet up –  _again_ – in search of his brother, demon or son of Cain or not. There was no way in hell Sam was going to lose him again, not after having just gotten him back – a little worse for wear but back nonetheless.   
  
But logic takes over and Sam grabs his research and starts at the beginning. Because Dean going missing fits the damn pattern.   
  
So really, all Sam needs to do is sit down and focus, go through the case all over again – because they had exactly nothing to work with – and treat this just like any other hunt.  
  
Yeah… any other hunt where his big brother is God knows where, could be evil again, at the very least with a live nuke etched onto his arm. Sure, not a problem.   
  
This is why Sam doesn’t do well on his own.   
  
Sam takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, exhales slowly then reopens them. Okay, facts of the case. Seven men, all unrelated with nothing in common, have been found dead. The only common denominator is the fact that they’re under forty and in good to great health and died of a heart attack. Or what appeared as a heart attack to the local – completely unhelpful – ME. Interviews with friends, families and coworkers were mostly unhelpful as well. Everyone they talked to said their victims were happy, a few had even finally landed the girls – and in one case, the guy – of their dreams. Then no one sees these poor bastards for a week and they end up dead shortly thereafter.   
  
Sam has no fucking  _clue_ .   
  
He starts from the beginning and re-interviews the witnesses, families and friends. He shows a picture of Dean around at every bar, diner and gas station, to anyone who will stand still long enough to look. He tears the town apart looking for his brother, getting more and more frantic and desperate and yeah, terrified, with every passing day, hell every passing hour.   
  
Sam still doesn’t know what he’s dealing with but honestly, the other victims of the case, the whole case itself, takes a backseat to finding his brother. The only reason Sam even stays in town and keeps pouring through his notes is because Dean’s disappearance fits with the pattern. Sure, he feels guilty about thinking that way but he just can’t help it. It’s Dean.   
  
A few of the people he shows the picture to look at him like he’s nuts then explain that sure, they saw that guy just the other day, with Sam. Or someone who looks like Sam. Maybe whatever is taking these guys is affecting the whole town because there’s no way these witnesses saw Dean, with Sam, when Sam’s been going crazy looking for him.  
  
Dean’s been gone three full days when Sam finds him stumbling along the side of the road. Sam’s been tearing this town apart the entire time. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t stopped. At first, he thinks that Dean is a hallucination brought on by exhaustion, hunger and desperation. But when Sam slams on the brakes and throws open the door, Dean stumbles to a stop and looks up at him, his head tilted to the side. Sam grabs his brother’s arms, fingers digging into his biceps hard enough that it has to hurt – his own knuckles are aching so Dean’s got to feel it – and has to force himself not to shake the shit out of Dean and demand answers. How the fuck is he just going to go missing, without a trace, in a town where people that go missing end up dead?!  
  
After a moment though the shock wears off and Sam actually  _looks_ at Dean. His brother looks like hell – like he hasn’t eaten or slept the whole time either – and his clothes are dirty and torn. There are a few bruises and fresh blood on Dean’s face and he’s swaying in Sam’s hold – seriously, if Sam wasn’t holding him so tightly, he’s sure Dean would hit the ground.  
  
“Dean?” Sam whispers. “What the hell? Where…”  
  
“Thought I was with you,” Dean rasps, blinking slowly. “Thought I was with you, Sammy,” he repeats then his eyes roll back into his head and he collapses. Only Sam’s quick reflexes keep him from falling down.   
  
“Fuck,” Sam grunts as he maneuvers Dean’s dead weight into the car. He’ll get Dean back to the motel, get him cleaned and patched up, then he’ll get to the bottom of this, one way or another.  
  
Once he gets Dean back to the motel and settled on the bed, Sam forces all other thoughts out of his head, his mind blessedly blank for the moment, and strips Dean’s ruined clothes off then sets about cleaning him up and tending to his wounds. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before – too many times to count, and it breaks his heart a little every time. Dean thankfully remains unconscious the entire time, making the process considerably easier – he’d argue and squirm and demand that he can do it himself – but once Sam’s finished and has him dressed in a pair of soft sweats and one of Sam’s old hoodies and Dean  _still_ hasn’t woken, Sam starts to worry.   
  
It takes hours for Dean to come to, slowly blinking his eyes open, squinting at Sam, then staring at him, obviously trying to get his bearings back. Sam’s nerves are raw and he’s on edge but he gives his brother the time he needs.  
  
“Sammy?” Dean finally rasps, reaching out one hand, his fingers brushing against Sam’s wrist. Sam  _cracks_ .  
  
“Where the hell’ve you been, Dean?! I’ve been worried sick…”  
  
“Whoa,” Dean winces, pushing himself up so that he’s leaning back against the headboard. “Calm down, dude…”  
  
“Calm down?!” Sam repeats incredulously. “You’ve been gone for three days…”  
  
“What? No I haven’t,” Dean scoffs. “It was a few hours…”  
  
“No, Dean, really,” Sam insists. “It was three days. I’ve been going crazy.” He stops, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and focuses on his brother. “Okay, from the beginning, what happened?”  
  
“I finished up the last interview, the mom of the last dude that went missing. You called and told me you were done and we agreed to meet at the diner across the street.” Sam nods; that much is true. But Dean never showed. “When I got to the diner, you were… I don’t know, all weird and twitchy. Or well, weirder than usual,” Dean flashes him a smirk and Sam rolls his eyes because that’s the expected response but really he just wants to hug him and never let go, “You said that something around here was giving you the creeps, not just the case, and you wanted to change motels. You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong so instead of arguing, we found a motel across town. You were still being all different and…  _off_ so when you had your back turned, I touched you with my silver knife.” Dean pauses, his brow furrowed, and shakes his head. “That’s when I figured it wasn’t you and took off. Then you found me.”  
  
“Dean, like I said, it’s been three days,” Sam replies softly, carefully. “I kept showing your picture around and people said that they’d seen you but that you’d been with me.” Dean’s shoulders slump and Sam squeezes his eyes closed. “Shapeshifter?” Sam asks.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Dean mutters. Sam reopens his eyes, frowning at his brother. “It was… It was  _you_ but a little  _too_ you.”  
  
“That… doesn’t actually make any sense, Dean.”  
  
“I’m thinkin’ we’re actually dealing with a damn siren.” They share a look, both of them remembering what happened with the last siren they dealt with.  
  
“Why a siren instead of a ‘shifter?” Sam asks.  
  
“Think about the other vics,” Dean shrugs. “All the witnesses’ stories were the same. The guys found the person of their dreams…”  
  
“So just like last time, the damn thing gave you your little brother,” Sam sighs. “But then why are the vics ending up dead instead of the most important person in their lives?”  
  
“Different variation?” Dean half-asks. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still under its spell if it’s only been three days. And I left it at the other motel. Let’s go.”  
  
Sam isn’t really happy about this plan but Dean’s already up and moving so he has no choice but to follow. Dean stabs himself in the arm and Sam busts down the door, stumbling, freezing for a split-second when he sees his own face staring back at him.  
  
“Dean,” the siren sighs. “I was worried…”  
  
“Can it, asshole,” Dean growls, tossing the knife covered in his own blood, the blade hitting the siren right in the heart. “Gross,” Dean wrinkles his nose as the glamour fades and they see the creature’s true form, too eerily similar to the last one they dealt with, the same gray skin and sunken eyes. Dean huffs out a sigh and turns to Sam. “C’mon, let’s get the hell outta here.”  
  
Sam has a bad feeling. This all seemed just a little too easy, too anticlimactic after what he’d been through. He’s glad when Dean points the Impala toward the bunker. He has the overwhelming need to follow up on this.   
  
Dean heads straight to his room as soon as they get back to the bunker. Sam heads to the library. There’s just something about this whole thing that isn’t sitting right with him. The last siren they dealt with didn’t take the shape of someone the victim already knew.  
  
Turns out, it doesn’t take long to look through the lore that the Men of Letters have on sirens and it’s a shit-ton more than they had before. There  _is_ a different species, one that takes the form of someone the victim knows, the person of the victims’ dreams. But the more Sam reads, it just gets worse from there. Killing the siren does no good, doesn’t break the spell. And they hit their victims with a damn fuck or die curse.   
  
Sam growls and drops his head to the table. Well, that shouldn’t be too hard. Right? Just go out and get Dean laid. Not that he really wants to participate in  _that_ .   
________  
  
Dean damn-near collapses against the closed door to his room, his shoulders slumping, head thumping back against the thick wood. He hadn’t wanted to worry Sam – or well, not worry him more than he had been while Dean was missing – but the poison or toxin or whatever the fuck from the siren doesn’t seem to be wearing off. In fact, he’s steadily starting to feel worse. Which makes no Goddamn sense whatsoever. The last time him and Sam were hit by a siren, as soon as Bobby ganked the fucker, they both came right out of it immediately.   
  
Pushing away from the door, he stumbles toward his bed and drops heavily onto the mattress. Elbows on his knees, he drops his aching head into his hands and closes his eyes, trying to get his body under control. His chest hurts and his skin feels too tight and itchy and he swears he can actually  _feel_ the blood thrumming through his veins. Not to mention the fact that he’s hard as hell. Which also makes no damn sense. The last fucking thing he’s thinking about right now is freaking sex. Sure, sometimes the adrenaline from a hunt will get him worked up but this is different. He’s not turned-on in the slightest but yet there’s still this desperate need building in him. It feels forced, completely unnatural, and to be honest, it freaks Dean right the fuck out. Which sucks. Sex has never freaked him out.   
  
Dean sits up, one hand absently rubbing at his chest as he thinks about every unsexy thing he can imagine. But even the images of decapitating vamps or Bobby in a Speedo or – Dean shudders – Dad having sex do nothing to get rid of the incessant erection pressing against the back of his zipper or the rush of heated blood through his veins.   
  
He suddenly, and fiercely, wants to talk to Sam. It’s a natural response whenever he’s freaked out or worried or just plain lost to seek out his brother and talk things through with him, let Sam and his freaky, genius brain figure out what’s wrong but this time the feeling, the need, is so much stronger than it has ever been.   
  
He knows without a doubt that Sam is researching sirens even though Dean killed the fucker and the case is over. Sam  _hates_ not knowing things. And they know nothing about the differences between the variations. But he has every confidence that, if the Men of Letters have any documentation of it, that Sam will find it and he’ll figure it out, figure out what’s wrong with Dean.  
  
But that also means that he’s going to have to go back out there and talk to his brother, admit that something is actually wrong in the first place. Which has never been easy for Dean to admit, especially to Sam. He’s the big brother here, the one that’s supposed to take care of Sam – even though Sam hates it, and most of the time hates Dean for it, and will never admit to needing it. Despite all they’ve been through and even though Sam has seen him at his absolute worst, he hates being weak in front of Sam.   
  
The fact that he’s painfully hard and uncomfortably turned-on makes it even worse. Dean’s never been shy about sex. He’s the one who gave Sam the talk when he was a kid and there’s been more than one time when Sam’s even caught him in the act. But at the moment, going out there and admitting any of what’s going on with him to Sam just makes him even more uncomfortable.   
  
Maybe if he just goes ahead and rubs one out it’ll be easier to deal with. At the very least he won’t have to go out there and face his brother with a hard-on.   
  
Settling back on the mattress, he undoes his jeans, sighing softly at the release of the constrictive pressure. He can’t remember the last time he was this hard. It was probably with Lisa, even though the whole time with her he was a grieving mess. After leaving her and all the shit they’ve dealt with over the past few years, he just hasn’t been feeling the whole one-night-stand thing as much as he used to when he was younger. It’s not that he wants to try to settle down again – once was enough of a cluster-fuck for him – he’s also just not interested in casual sex anymore either. He’ll do it every once in a while but mostly it’s just been his right hand for longer than he cares to think about.   
  
Shoving his jeans and boxer briefs down over his hips, he wraps his hand around himself, hissing through his teeth at the contact. His skin feels hot to the touch – hotter than usual – but the fact barely registers through the overwhelming need coursing through his entire body. Closing his eyes, he starts to stroke, rubbing his thumb across the leaking slit, smearing pre-come down his rock-hard shaft. He tries to think about the waitress a few weeks ago, the alluring combination of her shy smile and fuck me eyes. But he can’t seem to bring up many details about her. He switches to his favorite busty Asian beauty but he soon loses focus on her as well.  
  
Okay, so last resort.   
  
He pictures Lisa, her big, brown eyes and soft, dark hair, her firm, lean body with curves in all the right places. He doesn’t really like thinking about her, it makes him feel horrible about the way things went which is really not conducive for jerking off but she’s still one of the most beautiful women he’s ever been with and he had loved her, knew more about her than anyone else except for Sam.   
  
The moment Sam enters his brain, the image of Lisa fades instantly and Dean finds himself thinking about his little brother. His cock twitches in his hand and Dean’s eyes snap open and he jerks his hand away from himself. He takes a deep breath and recloses his eyes, thinks about the last time he and Lisa were together, before the whole vampire fiasco. He can feel heat pooling in his stomach, his groin tightening but no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t push himself over the edge. Not to mention it’s getting harder and harder to keep his mind from wandering to his brother and that’s just… no. No way in hell.   
  
Dean’s never found another guy attractive but he’s secure enough in himself that he can admit that – objectively – Sam is a good looking guy. But even if he was as gay as gay could be, thinking about his  _brother_ while jerking off is twelve kinds of wrong. Dean’s the first to admit that he’s fucked up, that he  _is_ a fuck up, but that is just a whole new level of fucking  _wrong_ .   
  
Sitting up, he groans, rubs his hands over his face. He’s not getting anywhere here and he doesn’t really think it’s only because he can’t stop thinking about Sam. He stands up and carefully tucks himself back in and zips up. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat and his head and chest ache. When he takes a step toward the door a wave of dizziness passes over him and he stumbles, falls back down onto the mattress. His legs are shaking, hell his whole body is shaking, and he knows he can’t put off going to talk to Sam anymore. Something is definitely wrong here.   
______  
  
There’s a note in the margin of the book Sam’s reading, mentioning additional information in yet another book – which he’s pretty sure is down in the storage room – but before he can go get it, Dean stumbles into the library, his skin pale and covered in a sheen of sweat.   
  
One week. The victims were all gone for one week then turned up dead right afterward. They have about three days to fix this.   
  
Sam jumps up and grabs Dean before he can hit the floor. Dean looks up at him, his eyes a little glassy as he blinks slowly, his cheeks flushed, his lips bitten red and raw. “Whass’a matter, Sammy?” Dean murmurs, half slurring.   
  
Sam sighs and maneuvers his brother into the nearest chair, pulling his own closer. “Something just wasn’t sitting right with me about the way things went down with the siren,” Sam explains softly. “It just… I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right. So I started looking into the Men of Letters’ info on them. There actually is a different species and unfortunately just killing the damn thing doesn’t break the spell…”  
  
Dean licks his lips, squirming slightly in his seat. “How?” Dean asks simply.  
  
“This version, they uh, they infect their victims with a curse,” Sam mutters, running one hand through his hair.  
  
“What kinda curse?”  
  
“Fuck or die,” Sam half-whispers, cringing slightly. Sure, he and Dean have always been able to talk about anything with each other – mostly – and Dean was the one to give Sam the dreaded sex talk when he was younger but really, the last damn thing Sam wants is to have to discuss sex with Dean right now. Or ever, really.  
  
Dean sighs and slumps in his seat, his legs splayed wide. Sam doesn’t  _mean_ to look, doesn’t even  _want_ to look, but his eyes glance that way totally beyond his control. He looks away just as quickly, his cheeks heating slightly. It’s obvious by the slight bulge in the front of his brother’s jeans that he’s at least half hard. “That explains a lot,” Dean mutters. “So, what’a we do?”   
  
Sam blinks owlishly, staring at his brother for a moment. Maybe this thing is frying his brain as well. “Fuck or die, Dean,” Sam repeats, slowly. “Kinda obvious what we do.”  
  
Dean’s shoulders drop and he looks away. Sam doesn’t want to push but they’re kind of working on a deadline here. Besides, his brother has never had a problem with anonymous sex before. But he has to admit, even though Dean still flirts and looks, he really hasn’t been doing the whole one-night-stand thing that much anymore. Honestly, it’s been like that since Lisa.   
  
Deciding to give Dean a minute, Sam gets up and heads into the kitchen, his mind still working over the facts. The one thing he doesn’t really get is why the curse? What does that accomplish? The victim can break it just by having sex so what’s the damn point? Sam remembers the additional info that’s in the storage room and is about to head that way when Dean appears in the doorway, jacket on, keys in hand, a resigned look on his face. If Sam wasn’t worried about his brother dying – again – he’d make a joke about Dean looking like he’s ready to face the firing squad instead of looking like he’s about to go get laid.   
  
Additional research forgotten for the moment, Sam ushers Dean out of the bunker. There’s a bar in town that they go to every now and then but Sam dismisses that as a viable option. Instead, he plucks the keys out of Dean’s hand and drives them an hour away, finding a nice, semi-trashy hole-in-the-wall, the kind of place that Dean should feel right at home. Sam sets himself up in the back corner in a booth, leaving Dean at the bar. He watches with a frown as Dean downs a few shots between beers, everything about him throwing off a ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. Being Dean, of course he gets all kinds of appreciative looks, despite the obvious unwillingness to be there. A few of the bolder women actually take a chance, settling on the stool next to Dean, smiling and leaning close. Dean barely glances at them, barely shakes his head no. Every-freaking-time.  
  
Sam doesn’t understand exactly what Dean’s not getting about this. It’s a fairly simple concept and Sam’s pretty sure he was damn clear about what needs to happen here. It’s almost like Dean  _wants_ to die.  
  
Sam can’t think about that.   
  
After turning down the fifth girl in a row, Dean glances over his shoulder at Sam and he honestly can’t read the emotion in his brother’s eyes. Sam huffs out a sigh and gives Dean his best bitch-face and pointedly glances at the chick that Dean just turned away, one eyebrow quirked in silent question. Dean just shrugs one shoulder and turns back to the bar, back to his whiskey and his beer.  
  
Sam sits for hours, watching his brother get steadily drunker – which is amazing, Sam honestly didn’t think Dean was still capable of actually getting drunk – and he’s just about to call this whole stupid plan off when the door to the bar opens and a knock-out blonde strolls in. She sets her sights on Dean immediately and Sam sits back in his seat, breathing a sigh of relief when Dean smirks at her and flirts back. He looks away when Dean gets up, leading her toward the door with one hand pressed against the small of her back. Sam moves to the bar and orders himself a whiskey and debates playing a game of pool – not to hustle but just to play for something to do while he waits – but before he can actually make up his mind, Dean stumbles back in the door, his eyes wide, his face pale.   
Sam’s up out of his seat in a heartbeat, steering his brother towards the booth he was sitting in. Dean’s trembling slightly, his hands shaking, and Sam automatically hands him the shot he ordered for himself. Dean downs it quickly, nodding gratefully.   
  
“What the hell?” Sam asks, leaning close enough that only Dean can hear him. Dean was outside a matter of minutes and he looks freaked as hell. Something definitely isn’t right.   
  
Dean shakes his head, staring at Sam wide-eyed. “I… I don’t know, man,” he rasps, sliding one hand down over his mouth. “I… We were in the car, in the backseat and things were fine then it just…” he trails off, blinking finally and Sam’s surprised to see a blush creep across Dean’s cheeks. “I couldn’t,” he mutters, barely loud enough for Sam to hear him.  
  
“You… I don’t…  _What_ ?” Sam eventually sputters.  
  
“I don’t know,” Dean grits out, his cheeks darkening even more. “I was fine then I wasn’t.”  
  
“What’s that mean?” Dean glares at him for a second, his jaw clenched. “Dean,” Sam sighs. “C’mon, you gotta tell me what happened so we can figure this out.”  
  
“I mean that I was… I was  _fine_ ,” Dean repeats pointedly. “Then I wasn’t. Fuck, man, I’ve been on edge and half-hard since the damn curse started but as soon as I started to… ya know, I just…” Dean stops, his shoulders slumping and Sam doesn’t really need him to finish his sentence. Dean shakes his head and looks away. “Never happened to me before,” he mutters, glancing down at his lap accusingly, “and it seems like it was fuckin’ temporary.”  
  
Sam cringes and is honestly at a loss for what to say. “Maybe it was her?” he half-asks.  
  
“Nah, man,” Dean shakes his head, looking back at Sam, “you saw her, she was the hottest chick in here. It’s something else, Sammy. Gotta be.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam nods, licking his lips. “Maybe… Maybe it was a fluke. Let’s go somewhere else and try again. If that doesn’t work then I’ll go back to the books, see if I can figure it out. Not gonna lose you over something stupid like this.”  
  
Dean nods, his eyes expressing his gratitude even if he can’t say it. Sam drives them to another bar – and then another and another – and watches as the same thing happens, over and over again. No matter what Dean does or what kind of girl he chooses, it doesn’t work out. By the time they leave the fourth bar Dean is angry and dejected and Sam drives them back to the bunker, the silence in the Impala loud and oppressive and accusing. He knows that Dean doesn’t blame him but he blames himself enough for both of them. If they hadn’t split up, if Sam had found him sooner, if Sam had torn through all the lore they have, maybe none of this would have happened.  
  
Sam helps Dean inside, ignoring his brother when he tries to push him away. Dean looks like hell, his face pale and ashen, a fine sheen of sweat covering every inch of skin Sam can see, and there’s a tremor running through his entire body. And although Sam doesn’t really  _want_ to look, he can’t help noticing the way the front of his brother’s jeans are tented, his cock obviously hard and pressing against his zipper. Dean groans softly with every step, probably from the pressure and friction against his trapped length and Sam can’t help but feel sorry for him.   
  
Dean starts to strip as soon as they get inside his room. Sam freezes, hovering, not sure what the hell he’s supposed to do. Once Dean’s down to his boxer briefs, he glances over his shoulder, frowning when he sees Sam still standing there.  
  
“Unless you want an eyeful, I suggest you leave,” Dean grits out.  
  
Sam blinks owlishly and nods, backing out of the room. “I… I’ll go hit the books,” he mutters but Dean is already turned back around and shoving his underwear down and off. Sam catches a brief glance of his cock – hard and leaking, flushed an angry red – and he feels his cheeks warm with embarrassment. It’s not the first time he’s caught a glimpse of his brother in all his glory, hell not even the first time he’s seen his brother hard, but it still manages to embarrass him just the same.  
  
Sam heads to the library and the book he was reading before, noting the location of the additional information. It turns out to be in a box in the storage room outside the dungeon and Sam pulls out the material, reading through it standing right where he is. His knees shake and threaten to give out the more he reads, the more it all starts to come together.   
  
He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on nothing more than his own breathing, the beating of his heart. At least Sam understands now why it didn’t work when Dean just tried to hook up with random chicks. This curse is very specific and honestly Sam’s at a loss as to how to continue.   
  
Freaking soul mates.   
  
To break the curse, Dean has to have sex with his soul mate.   
  
Sam can already almost hear his brother’s response, pretty damn sure that there’s no way Dean even believes in soul mates. And if he does, he’d probably assume it to be Lisa or Cassie. Sam knows better, knows that  with everything else that happened, how hurt and angry Dean was afterward,  Dean won’t remember that part of their little disastrous trip to Heaven and Ash’s words about soul mates and sharing Heaven and all that shit. Hell, Sam remembers and he barely believes it himself. And Dean sure as hell won’t believe it. Or even if he does, he won’t do anything about it. Because there is no way that Dean would be willing to have sex with him.  
  
Sam knows that he should be more opposed to the idea himself. It’s not that he really wants to, or has ever thought about it – he doesn’t swing that way – but he can’t find the disgust or aversion that he knows he should be feeling right now. If they don’t do this, Dean will die. Sam’s perfectly okay with doing it to save his brother’s life. It’s just sex – uncomfortable gay incestuous sex but still just sex. And despite the shit that’s happened to them over the last few years and the fact that he was adamant about not doing whatever it takes to save his brother, he didn’t mean it. Dean is all he has and truthfully, he’d die for him. He was just hurt and angry over the whole Gadreel thing. Having Dean die in his arms, yet again, then turn into a demon really put things into perspective. No fucking way is he going to sit back and do nothing and let Dean die on him, not when for once he has the ability to stop it.   
  
Now he just needs to convince Dean of that.   
  
Dean’s curled up in the middle of his bed when Sam gets back upstairs, sleeping fitfully. Sam can tell that he’s naked, the thin sheet over his sweaty frame tented from the erection that he obviously wasn’t able to get rid of on his own. Despite the time constraint – they’re closing in on only having two days left – Sam’s reluctant to wake him up. He needs to get his argument planned out anyway. Because he knows this is going to be one hell of a fight.   
  
Sam watches Dean for a few more moments, trying once again to find the revulsion that he should be feeling. He honestly can’t. All he can see is his big brother, his hero, the one person in the world that has stood by him, had his back, his entire life, even when Sam hasn’t always deserved it. He huffs out a sigh and turns away, heading toward his own room, hoping like hell to get a few hours of sleep. He’s pretty sure he’s going to need it.  
  
Sam still wakes up just after dawn even though it was stupidly late – or early, whatever – when he finally fell asleep. He gathers all the research material that he found, even what was in the storage room, and lays it out on the table in front of him, rereading through everything one last time.  
______  
  
Dean groans when he forces his gritty eyes open, shaking away the disturbing remnants of a dream involving his little brother and a can of whipped cream. What the fuck is wrong with him?  
  
He stares at the ceiling and debates trying to fall back asleep. He’s even more tired than when he – finally – fell into an exhausted, fitful sleep a few hours ago. And his traitorous cock is  _still_ freaking hard. His whole fucking body hurts and he’s dizzy, even lying down, and he can feel the sheen of sweat still covering his body. Even though he doesn’t want to, he can’t help but think about the epic failure of the night before.   
  
Sam said it was a fuck or die curse. Dean just doesn’t understand why the whole fucking part of that was such a problem. He’s been pretty much hard since he got away from the siren but the moment he tried to do anything his cock softened immediately. At the time, it was a relief. But then as soon as he got away from the chick he picked up, he was hard all over again. And it happened time and time again. Every time he touched one of the women it was like his body just shut down and decided to betray him. It just doesn’t make any damn sense.   
  
Well, Dean is damned and determined not to let some stupid fucking curse or some piece of shit monster win. This is  _his_ damn body and  _he_ calls the damn shots.   
  
He kicks off the sheet and blanket with a growl and wraps his hand around his too hot, too hard cock. He smears through the pre-come already oozing from the slit and starts jerking himself, hard and fast. He drops his other hand to his balls, rolling them in his fingers, using every trick he’s ever learned. He lets his mind wander freely but when he keeps coming back to images of his brother he reaches for his night stand, nearly pulling the drawer out as he rips it open. The newest issue of Busty Asian Beauties is right on top and Dean grabs it, flips it right open to the centerfold. She’s beautiful and busty alright, with her dark eyes and exotic features and Dean groans appreciatively. That’s more like it.   
  
He spends the better part of an hour stroking himself, nearly stripping his skin raw but with no success. He can’t focus on the girl in the magazine, keeps getting a flash of stupid floppy hair and hazel puppy dog eyes and firm muscle.   
  
Goddamnit!  
  
He throws the magazine across the room and stumbles out of bed, not even bothering to get dressed as he heads for the shower – if Sam’s hanging around in the hallway he’ll just have to get over getting an eyeful. Dean doesn’t even bother trying to jerk off again – he’s pretty damn sure at this point there’s no use – just lets the warm spray wash over him, the amazing water pressure not doing a damn thing for his tight, tense muscles. Usually he loves the bunker’s shower – best heat and water pressure he’s ever found – but just like everything else since he got cursed it just serves to somehow make things worse instead of better.   
  
Avoiding his own face in the mirror, Dean dries off quickly and heads back to his room to get dressed. He nearly breaks down in tears when he pulls his jeans on and carefully tucks his aching cock away, gritting his teeth the entire time. Seriously, once this is over he’s pretty sure he never wants to have an erection ever again. This might seriously ruin sex the rest of the way.   
  
By the time he’s done, he’s sweating again and panting and his head is pounding. The room is spinning and Dean’s so nauseous he’s pretty sure that he’s going to puke his guts out any second. He somehow manages to swallow it back though and heads out down the hallway, not at all surprised to find Sam already at one of the tables in the library.   
______  
  
Dean stumbles into the library almost an hour later. Sam looks up, unable to stop himself from cringing at just how bad his brother looks. He’s covered in a film of sweat and his skin is pasty and paler than usual. His eyes are fever-bright but dull and his lips are bitten red and raw. And despite the thick denim of his jeans, Sam can see that his cock is still hard, pressing against the back of his zipper. He’s got to be miserable and in some serious pain at this point.   
  
Sam jumps up and grabs Dean as he tumbles forward, both arms around his brother’s waist. Dean is radiating heat and Sam firms his resolve, knows that time is quickly running out and knows he’s going to end up spending most of what time they do have left fighting with Dean about the solution to the problem.   
  
Sam leads Dean to one of the chairs, ignoring him when he half-heartedly bats at Sam’s hands, trying to push him away, grumbling about not being a fucking child and that he can do it himself. Dean flops down in the chair, scrubbing one hand down over his face, rubbing at the scruff covering his chin and jaw and glances at the books spread out on the table then up at Sam.  
  
“Did’ya find anythin’, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice soft but gruff.   
  
Sam inhales deeply, exhales slowly, and nods. “I… Yeah, I did. The curse… It’s specific. Very specific, about what it takes to break it.”  
  
“Sure,” Dean nods, closing his eyes. “As opposed to your standard, every day fuck or die curse.” He reopens his eyes and looks up at Sam again. “Okay, so hit me with it. What is it?”  
  
“Soul mate,” Sam sighs.  
  
Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “No such thing.”  
“Actually, there is. There’s a ton of lore, from nearly every culture, across most countries. But that’s not… Look, whether you believe it or not, it doesn’t matter. It’s true, they exist, and in order to break this curse, and keep you breathing, you need to have sex with yours. The Men of Letters have case studies, examples, of people who have been hit with this same curse and lived.”  
  
“Okay, fine,” Dean huffs. “Let’s say I buy into this crap – which I don’t, by the way – you really think that you’ll be able to figure out who she is, track her down and get her to sleep with me in,” Dean checks his watch, scoffing again, “a little over forty-eight hours?”  
  
“Don’t need to figure anything out or track anyone down. I know exactly who your soul mate is.”  
  
Dean huffs out a humorless chuckle and leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Okay, then. This ought’a be entertaining. Just who is my soul mate then, smartass?”   
  
“Me,” Sam replies simply, shrugging one shoulder.  
  
“Have you…” Dean pushes out of his chair, dragging one hand through his hair, glaring at Sam. “Have you lost your damn mind?! You’re not my soul mate. You’re my freakin’ brother.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” Sam argues. “Don’t you remember, Dean? Heaven, what Ash said? We  _shared_ Heaven.”  
  
“The angels did that,” Dean growls, pacing away from Sam. “They screwed around with us, like they always do, and put us there, together, to make a damn point…”  
  
“No, Dean,” Sam interrupts, grabbing Dean by his shoulders, forcing him to stop and look at Sam again. “They manipulated things once we were there, sure. But they didn’t put us there, together, at first…”  
  
“ _Brothers_ , Sam,” Dean grits out, pushing Sam’s hands off his shoulders.   
  
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter…”  
  
“Like hell it doesn’t!” Dean snaps. “Even if I believed  _any_ of this, there’s no way in hell we’re gonna… No. Just no. There’s no way, Sam. I’m not gonna fuck you…”  
  
“Damnit, Dean,” Sam sighs, shaking his head, running one hand through his hair. “If we don’t do this, you’ll  _die_ . I’m not gonna let you die again, become a demon again. I’m just not.  _You_ do whatever it takes…”  
  
“It’s not the same, Sam!”  
  
“Oh, and why isn’t it the same, Dean? That’s right, I forgot.  _You_ can do whatever it takes to save me but not the other way around! What about you selling your soul? Or lying to me, tricking me, into getting possessed by a damn psycho angel?!”   
  
“It’s different!”   
  
“No it isn’t! You don’t think I’d do  _anything_ to save you?”  
“Well, if history is any indication…”  
  
“Fuck off, Dean,” Sam growls, clenching his fists to keep from punching Dean in the face – he only has a little over forty-eight hours left to break the curse and he doesn’t want to hurt him at the moment. Maybe once this is over. Sam closes his eyes, breathing slowly, deeply, struggling to control his temper. This isn’t the time to have this argument with Dean. After one last, long exhale Sam opens his eyes and looks at Dean. “We don’t have a choice here,” he says softly, firmly. “I can’t just… I can’t just sit back and watch you die, again. Especially if I can do something about it this time.”  
  
“No,” Dean replies, just as firm, shaking his head. “Honestly? I’d rather die than do that to you.”  
  
“Whoa, wait,” Sam frowns. “You wouldn’t be doing anything  _to_ me. If this’ll save you, I’m okay with it.”  
  
“Well I’m not,” Dean murmurs, shaking his head.   
  
“But the lore…”  
  
“I don’t care what it says, Sam. I don’t care if this is the cure, I don’t… I don’t care if this whole soul mate thing is real or not. You’re my  _brother_ …”  
  
“Is it the guy thing?” Sam asks carefully.  
  
“No,” Dean sighs, throwing his hands up. “It’s the brother thing. Incest is not the answer, Sam.”  
  
“In this case, it is,” Sam argues.   
  
“Then you’ll either have to find another answer or…”  
  
“Or what? Just accept that you’re gonna die in two days?”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “I’m sorry, Sammy. Really I am. But this is… I  _can’t_ .”  
  
“What if it was me?” Sam asks softly.  
  
“What’d’ya mean?”  
  
“If I was the one with the curse. You’d do anything.”  
  
“Like I said, that’s different.”   
  
Sam clenches his jaw and looks away, sees Dean carefully make his way back toward the hallway leading to their bedrooms out of the corner of his eye. Sam knew that this wasn’t going to be easy but Dean’s making it impossible. Stupid, infuriating, stubborn son of a bitch. Sam sighs and collapses into his chair again and closes his eyes. He’ll just keep trying. He’s got two days and he’s just as fucking stubborn, if not more.   
Sam’s not at all surprised when Dean takes to ignoring him. He’s also not surprised when Dean glares at him whenever Sam comes near him nor is he surprised when Dean leaves, comes back several hours later, drunk and even more frustrated and pissed off than when he left. Sam’s not stupid, he knows Dean went to at least one bar and tried again, on his own, to get rid of the curse.   
  
Sam follows Dean down the hallway to his bedroom, leans against the door frame and watches silently as his brother strips down to his boxer briefs. “We’re running out of time, Dean,” Sam says softly, once again getting a glare from Dean.   
  
He’s honestly at a loss here. He doesn’t know how to talk Dean into this, doesn’t know how else to make it clear that they don’t have a freaking choice. They have a little over twenty-four hours left and Sam swears he can actually  _feel_ the time ticking away, can feel his brother slipping through his hands all over again. It’s too much like every other time he lost Dean but in the same sense not the same at all. He actually has the ability to save Dean this time, knows for once that he actually has the chance to not let his brother down.   
  
He can see the side of Dean’s face, the tense set of his jaw, the rigid line of his shoulders. Dean’s obviously still pissed at him but Sam is to the point that he really doesn’t fucking care. Let Dean be pissed, as long as he’s still alive to be.   
  
“Do you… Are you really prepared to die over this, Dean?” Sam grits out, his own volatile temper rising to match his brother’s. The muscle along Dean’s jaw twitches and he shoots Sam yet another glare out of the corner of his eye. “Ya know, you always call me the selfish one,” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Who’s being selfish now?”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes and turns to face Sam fully. Sam can see the hard line of his brother’s cock tenting the wash-worn cotton of his boxer briefs, idly wonders if Dean’s been hard the entire time and how healthy that can really be. It’d be just their luck if Dean ends up doing permanent damage to his body too on top of everything else. “In this case,” Dean replies, voice low and gruff and dangerous, “I’m more than okay with being selfish.”  
  
“Well I’m not!” Sam snaps, running one hand through his hair in frustration. “What the hell, Dean? You just…” he pauses, swallows thickly, shakes his head. He hates the bite of tears he can feel stinging his eyes, the tightness of emotion in his throat. His voice is hoarse and shaky when he continues, forcing himself to say the words, put voice to his biggest fear. “I can’t lose you again,” he rasps. “I just… can’t. I’ve seen you die too many fuckin’ times, Dean.” He licks his lips, blinks against the tears about to break free. “I can’t do it again. The other times, I couldn’t save you, I let you down. But this time, I can. I can actually save you for once. Please, Dean,” he chokes out.  
  
Dean’s shoulders fall and he sighs quietly, his face and eyes softening. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he damn-near whispers. “I know this is hard on you and I’m sorry for that. But what you’re suggesting… It’s not right, Sam. You gotta know that.”  
  
“I don’t give a damn about right or wrong,” Sam replies as firmly as he can. His voice still waivers and he can feel the emotions threatening to drown him. “I care about savin’ you.”  
“I won’t let you sacrifice yourself to save me,” Dean mutters.   
  
“That’s not…” Sam frowns, shaking his head. “I’m not sacrificing myself, Dean. I  _wanna_ do this.”  
  
“Since when, Sam?” Dean shoots back. Sam opens his mouth to answer but Dean shakes his head, holds up one hand. “No, don’t. You don’t wanna do this, Sam. If it wasn’t for the damn curse, fucking me would never have even crossed your mind.”  
  
Sam can’t actually argue with that.  He’s never thought of his brother that way. But it doesn’t freaking matter. He doesn’t understand why Dean isn’t getting that. “True,” Sam concedes. “You’re right about that, okay? I’ve never thought about it before and if it wasn’t for the situation, I wouldn’t be now. But I just don’t care, alright? I’m fine with it.”  
  
“Well I’m not.”  
  
Sam takes a step closer, doesn’t try to hold back the tears anymore. He knows it’s a dirty, underhanded trick but he’s not above playing a little dirty right now. He stares at Dean, puppy-eyes in full effect and whispers, “You can’t leave me again, Dean.”  
  
“Sammy,” Dean sighs, sounding pained. He’s never handled seeing Sam hurt, emotionally or physically, well and Sam knows that.   
  
“I lose you again and this time, that’s it. I know that there’ll be no gettin’ you back. No demon deals or angels in our pockets or helpful vampires,” he can’t help the way his voice breaks slightly over the word, the whole Benny thing still a sore spot that he doesn’t think will ever really heal, “just you, dead. And I can’t… I can’t do it again. I  _can’t_ , Dean.”  
  
“How can you just be okay with the thought of this?” Dean asks quietly. “I don’t get it, Sam. How can you possibly be okay with fucking your brother?”  
  
“’cause I’ll do whatever it takes to save you,” Sam whispers hoarsely. “For once, I actually can. And I know I haven’t in the past, that I’ve said and done some horrible shit to you. But I’ve learned my lesson, Dean. So yeah, I’m okay with having sex with you because it’ll keep you breathing.” He inhales deeply, exhales slowly. “You’re my brother,” he says softly. “There’s  _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for you.”  
  
“I’m sorry, little brother,” Dean smiles sadly. “I just can’t.”  
  
“Jesus, Dean!” Sam grits out, wiping angrily at the few tears that have broken free to trickle down his cheeks. “Close your eyes and pretend I’m someone else. I don’t care! Just… Fuck, let me help you!”  
  
Dean shakes his head and huffs out a humorless laugh. “You really think I could do that?”  
  
“It’s just sex!”  
  
“You’re my baby brother!” Dean yells back. “And I know you’re a grown-up, okay? And I know it pisses you off, but it’s my freaking job to protect you. Especially from epically stupid plans like this.”  
“How can you continue to protect me if you’re dead?” Sam counters.  
  
Dean’s jaw clenches again and his hands curl into fists at his sides. “Low blow, Sam,” he growls.  
  
“I don’t care,” Sam replies evenly. “You’re so freakin’ worried about protecting me, taking care of me, well hate to break it to you, brother, but you can’t do that if you’re not around.”  
  
Dean huffs out a breath and shoves past Sam, obviously fully intending to stalk out of the room, even though he’s still only wearing his underwear. Body working on pure instinct, Sam’s hand snaps out and grabs Dean’s wrist, forcefully pulling his brother to a stop. The first brush of skin against skin is electric and Sam gasps, his fingers unconsciously digging into his brother’s wrist. Dean’s staring up at him, wide-eyed, and Sam’s pretty damn sure he’s feeling it too. Now that he thinks about it, this is the first time that he’s touched Dean without a barrier of clothing in the way since he was cursed, other than quickly cleaning him up when he first found him. But that was quick and clinical and their skin barely came into contact for any extended period of time.   
  
He’d had no clue that it would affect him like this, the lore hadn’t mentioned anything, hadn’t warned that he’d have such a strong reaction to the simplest touch.  
  
“Dean,” Sam whispers, blinking owlishly. His heart is pounding against his ribcage and there’s a burn of arousal suddenly pooling in his stomach, his groin. He can’t even remember the last time – if ever – he got this turned-on this fast, the rush of heated blood to his cock leaving him dizzy and lightheaded.   
  
There’s a flush across Dean’s cheeks, his eyes dark and he looks even more miserable than before. “Lemme go, Sam,” he croaks out and Sam can feel a fine tremor running through Dean’s body where he’s still holding Dean’s wrist.   
  
But now that he’s touched, Sam can’t force himself to let go. He’s not sure how he knows but he’s sure that this is something to do with the curse, it has to be. He’s touched Dean’s bare skin a million times in the past and  _never_ has he felt like this. If there was any doubt left in him – and he can admit that there was a small amount – it’s gone now. He takes another step closer, nearly chest to chest with Dean, feeling the heat radiating off his brother. He wants to bury himself in his brother’s arms and never let go again. How the hell is Dean still fighting this? The arousal is overwhelming and if Dean is feeling even a fraction of what Sam is feeling why is he still trying to pull away?  
  
Dean tugs again, trying to pull his arm away but Sam merely tightens his hold, completely beyond his own control. There’s a disconnect between his brain and his body and it’s like he physically can’t force himself to unclench his fingers. Dean’s getting pissed again, Sam can tell, the anger somehow managing to burn through this  _whatever_ between them. Sam swallows thickly and licks his suddenly dry lips. He can feel himself swaying slightly, like his body is drawn to Dean’s. He’s achingly hard, his cock leaking and twitching against the back of his zipper and he  _wants_ . He feels completely out of control, like he was when he was hooked on the demon blood, his body acting completely without the consent of his brain – but he has to admit, even his brain is pretty damn on-board right now too.   
  
Dean’s staring up at him, blinking slowly, his lips parted softly and Sam  _has_ to taste. It’s almost a compulsion at this point. He reaches up and grabs the back of Dean’s neck, a broken moan tearing from his throat at the additional point of contact, his brother’s heated flesh searing into his fingers. Dean’s trembling even more, every muscle stiff, filled with tension. Sam doesn’t think, just leans forward and brushes their lips together. That electric spark shoots through him again, stronger now, and Sam surges forward, plastering his chest against Dean’s, licks his way into his brother’s parted lips.   
  
Dean’s still for a few eternity-long seconds before he growls low in his throat and starts to actually kiss Sam back. It’s unlike anything Sam has ever felt in his life. The thought that this is his brother, his hero, doesn’t even register – or really even matter – all he can feel is warm, firm muscle against his entire body, the wet, silky slide of Dean’s tongue against his own, the firm pressure of his soft, plump lips. Jess had been the love of his life and things between them were always amazing but he can admit, even in the mess of the haze swirling in his brain, that kissing her hadn’t ever been this powerful, this  _right_ .   
  
Sam blinks his eyes open, unable to bite back a whine when Dean forcefully pushes him away, all points of contact between them breaking. Dean’s chest is heaving and he’s staring at Sam like he’s never seen him before. Or like he’s some kind of monster. Now that he’s not touching, not feeling that electric current running through him, some of the haze lifts and Sam can actually think clearly. Or mostly clearly. He still wants to grab Dean and drag him back into his arms, kiss him until they can’t breathe, fuck until they can’t move, but he at least is now able to realize what he did. Shame burns through him, warring with the lust still curling in his stomach. He can’t believe that he did that. He essentially accosted his brother.  
  
Dean licks his kiss-swollen lips – that  _really_ doesn’t help Sam’s problem – and shakes his head. He looks like he wants to say something but instead turns away and grabs his jeans and shirts, forcefully pulling each item of clothing back on. When he pushes past Sam this time, Sam lets him go, but automatically turns to follow. The thought of being away from Dean  _hurts_ and his body is once again acting on nothing but pure instinct.   
  
“Don’t follow me,” Dean grits out, barely glancing at Sam over his shoulder.  
  
Sam opens his mouth, to argue or beg or  _something_ , but Dean’s already out of the room. Sam doesn’t listen, of course he doesn’t, and follows behind. Before he can catch up though, he sees Dean nearly running up the stairs and slamming out the front door. Sam’s legs buckle and he falls into a chair at one of the tables in the library, staring unseeing at the wall. There’s a sharp ache in his chest and he reaches up absently to rub at it. He’s still hard, his blood still rushing through his veins like liquid fire, his lips still tingling with the remembered pressure of Dean’s.  
  
Sam doesn’t know how long he sits there but his ass is numb. There’s still that uncomfortable ache in his chest and his body hasn’t calmed down in the slightest. It simultaneously feels like mere minutes and hours since Dean pushed him away and walked – stormed – out on him. He blinks and his eyes are dry and gritty and he can feel the dried tracks of tears on his cheeks. His hand is shaking when he lifts it to run through his hair. He’d get up but he’s pretty sure that his legs won’t hold his weight.   
  
The ever-present clock counting down in his head screams at him and Sam forces his eyes to focus enough to check his watch. They’re down to under twenty hours. Which means that Dean’s been gone for at least four.   
His stomach cramps and white-hot pain shoots through his head and chest – his heart – and for one stupid moment it feels like he’s going to have a vision, even though he hasn’t had one since Dean killed Yellow Eyes. Instead of letting up, the pain grows worse and Sam grits his teeth to hold back a scream, sliding out of his chair and curling up on the cool, hard floor beneath him. He’s sweating like he just ran a marathon and it feels like his heart is trying to rip out of his chest. His vision blurs, from pain or tears he's not sure, and the last thought he has in his head before darkness descends is that he wishes like hell that Dean was here.   
______  
  
Dean slams the door of the Impala and curls his hands around the wheel, scowling toward the front of the bunker. What the fuck is Sam’s deal? This whole soul mate bullshit and thinking that a little gay incestuous sex is the answer to the problem. And the fucking kiss. What the ever-loving  _fuck_ ?  
  
Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing his heart to stop pounding against his ribcage. Sure, he’s pretty Goddamn pissed at Sam but honestly he’s more pissed at himself. He actually kissed Sam back for a few moments. What the hell was he thinking? Sam’s crazy must be rubbing off on him.   
  
He groans and very firmly shoves the thought of rubbing off away from his brain. Reopening his eyes, he starts the car and heads into town. He needs a drink – or twelve – and to not think about the curse or Sam or the way that he can still feel where Sam touched him, can still feel his lips tingle and the electricity that coursed through him the moment that Sam’s skin met his own.   
  
The bar is nice and packed and Dean grabs a beer and a shot then sinks into the crowd, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in the calming numb of alcohol and strangers.   
  
But he can’t stop thinking about Sam or their argument, the tears in his brother’s eyes when he talked about losing Dean again. If he wants to be honest, even though they’ve worked things out between them, he really hadn’t believed that Sam meant it when he said that he was lying when he told Dean that he wouldn’t do whatever it takes to save him. Dean can admit, if only inside his own head, that nothing had hurt as badly as hearing those words from his brother’s mouth. And it had taken him a long damn time to be able to get over it.   
  
It warms his heart that Sam is so willing to do whatever it takes this time to keep him from dying again but what he’s suggesting is just plain ridiculous. They’re brothers and Dean can’t bring himself to cross that line. And Dean can’t – won’t – let Sam sacrifice himself like that. Not for him. He’s not worth it. And he knows it’ll hurt his brother but he also knows that in the end Sam will be okay. He’s never needed Dean the way that Dean needs Sam.   
  
A wave of dizziness passes over him and Dean groans, squeezes his eyes closed for a second. He knows damn-well that it hasn’t worked any of the other times that he’s tried but he glances around the crowded room, hoping against hope that maybe the other times  _had_ just been flukes, that he’ll be able to pick up some chick and this will all be over and he won’t have to argue with his brother about incest again. Just thinking about it makes Dean shudder.   
  
There are a few decent prospects but he just can’t will himself to go talk to any of them. In a fit of desperation, Dean even checks out a few of the guys. He doesn’t really want anyone. Honestly, the last fucking thing he wants at the moment is to have sex, even if he could, even if it’ll save his life. He spends the next few hours getting progressively more buzzed. He lost the ability to actually get good and plastered years ago and he misses it, regrets letting himself get to that point. The oblivion of being drunk off his ass would be welcome right now.   
  
Even though going back to the bunker is the last thing he wants – he’s positive that Sam will be waiting up, ready to continue their fight – now that his anger has faded, he’s starting to feel like crap again. He finishes off his beer but before he can get up he notices someone sit down next to him. He glances over, eyes widening when he takes in the chick looking back at him, a smile curling up her lips. She’s gorgeous, easily a hard ten, and for a second he wonders why the hell she chose to come sit by him. He knows he has to look like hell – he sure as shit feels like it – but she’s still smiling at him and there’s definitely interest in her eyes.   
  
They make small talk for a bit as they both have a beer and a shot – Dean’s always liked a chick that can handle her liquor. They don’t exchange names and even though she’s giving out all the signals he’s still surprised when she leans closer and asks if he wants to take this someplace else. And just like women that can handle their liquor, he’s always loved chicks that know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it.   
  
Despite the disasters the last few times turned out to be, Dean nods and flashes her his best smirk. Her eyes darken and he leads her out of the bar, one hand low on the small of her back. He gets her into the back of the Impala but before he can make a move, she pushes him back against the seat and climbs into his lap. Soft, small, warm hands cup his cheeks and she leans forward, kissing him wet and dirty. Dean tries like hell to keep up but the touch is all wrong and all he can think about are Sam’s hands, Sam’s lips, the undeniable heat that his brother’s touch sparked inside him. His cock is completely soft and a sharp, sudden cramp in his stomach has him pulling away with a pained groan. His chest feels like it’s breaking open and his head feels like it’s going to explode.  
  
When he’s able to force his eyes open, the girl in his lap is watching him, concern clear in her dark gaze. “’m sorry,” he rasps. “I-I can’t…”  
  
“Are you okay?” she frowns.  
  
Dean nods and tries to flash her a smile although he’s sure it comes out as a grimace. “I’m sorry,” he repeats softly. “I, uh, I better go.”  
  
She nods and he can see the disappointment in her eyes. He watches her climb back out of the Impala and make her way back into the bar. The ache in his stomach and chest eases up slightly and his vision clears enough that he’s pretty sure he can make it back to the bunker.   
  
Dread fills his stomach as he opens the front door ten too-short minutes later. He feels like hell and the last damn thing he wants is to fight with his brother again. He’s got a little under nineteen hours to go – his last nineteen hours; he’d almost forgot what it felt like having a clock ticking down to his imminent death – and he just wants to hang out with his brother, maybe watch a few stupid movies and drink a few beers and enjoy the rest of the time they have together.   
  
Every other thought flies out of his head though when he steps into the library and sees Sam in a crumpled heap on the floor. He rushes forward and drops to his knees, his hands shaking as he pushes the hair away from Sam’s face, feels for his pulse. That same electric charge from the last time they touched surges through him but he pushes it – and his body’s reaction – aside and focuses on his brother.  
  
Sam looks like hell, he’s pale and sweaty and his pulse is faint but erratic beneath Dean’s fingers. “Sammy,” Dean mutters, his voice hoarse. Sam doesn’t respond. “C’mon, Sam,” Dean says, a little louder, gently shaking his brother’s shoulder.   
  
Sam blinks slowly and it takes a few long moments for his hazy eyes to meet Dean’s. Sam sucks in a shaky breath and swallows thickly. “Dean,” he whispers.   
  
“What the hell happened?” Dean asks softly, relief making his hands tremble even more where he’s still touching Sam’s neck and carding his fingers through his hair. He should stop. He knows that he should, that he needs to, but he just can’t make himself just yet.   
  
“I… I don’t know,” Sam admits weakly. “Just. This sudden pain, like everywhere. And then I collapsed. Guess I blacked out.”  
  
Dean lets out a soft, shaky sigh and nods. “C’mon, let’s get you up,” he says quietly.  
  
Sam looks like he wants to say something but instead he nods and lets Dean help him up off the floor. Sam wavers once he’s on his feet and Dean instinctively wraps his arm around Sam’s lean waist, pulling him against his side. He can feel the heat radiating off his brother and it worries him. They make their way slowly down the hallway and into Sam’s room. Dean pushes him down onto the bed, frowning and shaking his head when Sam tries to get up again. Sam huffs out a sigh but nods, dropping his eyes. Dean smiles sadly and squeezes his brother’s shoulder before all but running from his room.   
  
He wanted to spend a little time with Sam but he can tell that his brother is exhausted and he’s pretty damn tired himself. He tells himself as he’s crawling into bed that even if they sleep for a few hours, they’ll still have time in the morning. But he knows it won’t be enough.   
______  
  
Sam flops down onto his bed once Dean leaves, curls up on his side and stares at the door. He still feels like crap but the blinding pain from before he blacked out is gone. He isn’t sure what the hell happened to him but he can guess that it probably has something to do with the curse. He can’t help but wonder why, wonder what happened while Dean was gone that caused that type of reaction in him.   
  
He lies there for hours, unable to turn his brain off despite the exhaustion weighing him down. Dean’s down to nearly sixteen hours and Sam is no closer to being able to talk him into letting Sam save his life. It’s like Dean’s deal all over again. Stupid, infuriating, stubborn bastard. Sam sighs softly and closes his eyes, unable to find the strength to even be mad anymore. Honestly, at this point, he’s just terrified and miserable. He doesn’t want to lose Dean. Why can’t his brother see that? How can he not know that this is slowly killing Sam just as sure as it’s killing Dean? Sam knows damn-well that he won’t survive losing Dean again. He barely did the last time. He realized when Dean died and became a demon that he needs Dean. Sam doesn’t do well on his own – his past is a shining example of why he needs his brother around – and he doesn’t like the person that he becomes when Dean isn’t right by his side where he belongs.  
  
Sam huffs out a sigh and pushes himself up. The room tilts and his stomach rolls and there’s a dull throb pulsing behind his eyes. Sam ignores it all and climbs to his feet. He can’t just lie here while his brother is dying. He’ll check on Dean then maybe hit the books again. Maybe there’s something he missed. He knows it’s a long shot – more than a long shot actually, the lore was pretty damn clear – but he has to do  _something_ .   
  
To his surprise, the door to his brother’s room is open and Sam pokes his head inside. The room is dark and Dean’s lying on top of the covers but he’s awake, staring at the ceiling. Sam only gets a second or two to stare at him – he looks like absolute shit and if Sam feels as bad as he does he can’t even imagine how bad it is for Dean – before Dean turns his head and looks at him. Dean’s eyes are dull, resigned and full of pain, and everything inside Sam crumbles. His plan to look through everything again flies out of his head and he stumbles fully into the room. He leans against the wall for a moment, eyes locked with Dean’s, before he slides down so that he’s sitting, legs pulled up against his chest. He wraps his arms around his knees and leans his head back against the wall. There’s so much he wants to say. He wants to beg Dean to let him – let  _them_ – do this so that he won’t have to go through the pain of losing him again, for good this time, but nothing comes out around the lump in his throat.   
  
He's not sure how long they sit there in silence, staring at each other, but the cool from the floor has seeped through his jeans and his ass is numb. “What’re you doin’, Sammy?” Dean eventually asks softly, his voice rough.   
  
Sam shrugs one shoulder and swallows thickly. “Couldn’t just lie there, ya know?” he whispers.   
  
“You should sleep,” Dean replies quietly. “You’re exhausted.”  
  
Sam smiles sadly and shakes his head. Fifteen hours to go and Dean’s still worrying about him. “Yeah well,” Sam sighs, shrugging again. “Look, Dean…”  
  
“Can we not?” Dean interrupts, pushing himself up so that he’s sitting on the side of the bed. He huffs out a sigh and shakes his head, rubbing one hand down over his face. “I just don’t wanna fight with you anymore, Sam,” he continues softly.   
  
“Me too,” Sam agrees.   
  
Dean flashes him a small, strained smile and nods. “So, uh, you feelin’ better?” Dean asks, the forced-casual tone and subject change obvious and kind of painful.   
  
“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “Or well, sorta,” he amends. If these really are his last hours with his brother – and it’s looking more and more like that – Sam doesn’t want

their conversation to be based on lies or half-truths. Dean quirks an eyebrow in silent question and Sam leans his head back against the wall again before admitting softly, “Still kinda feel like crap. My chest and head ache and my stomach is a little cramped. Vision’s a little blurry. But it’s not as bad as before.”  
  
Dean smiles – still small but more real, more relaxed – and nods. “Well that’s good.” He rubs his hand over his mouth and Sam blinks, his vision clearing enough to see a smear of lipstick on the corner of Dean’s lips.   
At least now he knows what Dean was doing while he was gone. He feels like a fucking idiot for not putting it together sooner; his reaction to the first skin-on-skin contact that they’ve had since Dean was cursed, how the thought of being away from Dean hurt, the blinding pain while Dean was gone… All of it has to do with the damn curse. Sam figured as much but he didn’t realize that it would affect him in much the same way that it’s affecting Dean. Touching Dean, kissing him, somehow completed the circuit and now Sam’s dealing with the same side effects.   
  
“You tried again,” Sam states, unaware that he even opened his mouth to speak until he hears his own voice. Dean drops his hand and Sam swears he sees a flash of guilt in Dean’s eyes before his brother schools his features and slips the mask back in place. He looks away, his shoulders tensing, jaw clenching. He doesn’t have to answer, Sam already knows and Dean knows that Sam knows, but Dean still nods. “And once again it didn’t work,” Sam adds. Dean’s gaze snaps back to him, a warning in his dark, green eyes. “I’m not startin’ anything,” Sam holds up his hands. “Just statin’ a fact here. You’re still cursed and I’m still feelin’ like crap. So it didn’t work.”   
  
“What’s you feelin’ like crap have to do with this?”   
  
Sam huffs out a humorless laugh and shakes his head. “Really, Dean?” he asks, forcing himself to remain calm. Fighting with Dean isn’t going to get him – get them – anywhere, he knows that. When Sam gets angry, Dean gets angry and fights back, he has a lifetime of proof of that.   
  
“What?” Dean asks incredulously. “I’m serious. What’s one got to do with the other?”  
  
Sam shifts uncomfortably, chews on his bottom lip for a second while he tries to figure out the best way to word this. If he doesn’t come at this right, it’ll just start yet another argument. Dean’s still staring at him expectantly, both eyebrows raised. “The physical effects of the curse, the pain, the nausea, the dizziness, I’m experiencing it as well,” Sam eventually explains evenly. “And that’s what happened to me while you were gone.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“When you were… tryin’ to fix it yourself,” Sam says carefully. “The pain became overwhelming and that’s when I blacked out.”  
  
“That’s ridiculous,” Dean replies automatically. Sam was actually expecting it. “What makes you think that?”  
  
“Because I was fine before I touched you,” Sam damn-near whispers. “And then I’m assuming that you went to the bar and tried to hook up with someone else…”  
  
“Sam,” Dean warns.  
  
“I’m not starting anything,” Sam repeats. “I’m just tellin’ you what happened. After you…” Sam cuts himself off, unable to say  _after you pushed me away_ , “I started feelin’ like this as soon as we weren’t touching anymore. And it was pretty steady the whole time you were gone until it got about a thousand times worse all of a sudden and I hit the floor.”  
  
“You know that makes no sense right?”   
  
Sam inhales deeply to keep from snapping. “I know that you don’t believe me or the lore,” he eventually replies, as calm and even as he can. “But just because you don’t believe it, doesn’t make it any less true.”  
  
“So you’re trying to say this is about the soul mate thing again?” Dean asks incredulously.  
  
“What I’m saying is that the lore never mentioned how it would affect the victim’s soul mate,” Sam states. Maybe if they don’t talk about this in terms of them, like they’re just talking about facts of a case, they can avoid the fight that is brewing just below the surface. “Best I can put together is that once the victim is infected with the curse, if the victim’s soul mate touches them, they get the affects as well, to a point. And if the victim touches or tries to sleep with someone else, it affects their soul mate.”  
  
“What happens when the victim dies?” Dean asks softly. “Does the soul mate,” he rolls his eyes, sarcasm thick in his tone, “die as well?”   
  
Sam clenches his jaw, fingers digging into his knees. If they get out of this somehow, he’s going to sit Dean down and show him all the frigging lore they’ve got on soul mates just to prove a damn point.   
  
“Lore didn’t say,” he eventually replies. “But from what we saw on the case, probably not. Doesn’t mean that they’re completely okay either though. If there was no skin to skin contact between them, then they’re more than likely okay, the bond or connection or whatever didn’t form. If there was… I don’t know,” Sam sighs.  
  
“That’s another thing I don’t get,” Dean frowns. “When we were doing the interviews, we found out that more than a few of the vics had finally landed ‘the one’,” Sam smiles softly at the use of the quote-y fingers, knowing how much Dean actually hates them, “If that was the case, then why’d the poor bastards still end up dead?”  
  
“Most likely because ‘the one’ doesn’t necessarily mean that they were the vics’ soul mates.”  
  
Dean nods, drags one hand over his lips again. The rest of the lipstick is gone when he drops his hand and something settles inside Sam’s chest, muscles that he didn’t even realize where so tense relaxing slightly. He closes his eyes and forces himself not to think about it, about Dean touching and kissing, possibly fucking, some bartender or barfly. The thought  _hurts_ and Sam’s stomach cramps slightly, the dull ache behind his eyes getting slightly stronger.  
  
Silence stretches between them, foreign and uncomfortable. In the past, silences between them were never this strained. Sam doesn’t know exactly when that changed. He misses it though. Honestly, even though things are better between them, he misses a lot of things about how they used to be. But that was all before Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, lies and mistrust came between them and tore them apart. God if he could go back and do things over, the things he would change.  
  
He reopens his eyes and finds Dean watching him. There’s a sadness in his eyes that he can’t hide quite fast enough and Sam’s throat tightens slightly with emotions. He can feel the sting of tears but they don’t fall.   
  
“This is all my fault,” Sam whispers, surprising himself as well as Dean.  
  
“What’re you talking about?” Dean asks softly.  
  
Sam honestly hadn’t meant to say anything out-loud. Mostly he was just thinking to himself but his mouth opened without the direct consent of his brain. “Nothing. Never mind,” he sighs.  
  
“No, seriously. What’d’ya mean?”   
  
Sam huffs out a sigh and rolls his eyes. He knows that what he’s thinking makes him sound like a drama queen or some whiny kid but he knows Dean won’t let it go. So for the sake of their not arguing agreement, he mutters, “All this. I mean, I’ve known for a while, ya know? Heard it enough damn times from enough monsters but I just never really wanted to believe it.”  
  
“You’re not makin’ any sense, Sammy.”  
  
“Everyone… Everyone I love dies,” Sam grits out, smiling sadly.   
  
“Everybody dies sooner or later, kiddo,” Dean shrugs.  
  
“That’s not,” Sam sighs, running one hand through his hair. “That’s not what I mean. Mom, Jess, Dad, Bobby, you more times than I can even count…” Sam shakes his head and drops his eyes. “It’s me.  _I’m_ the one that’s cursed. Everyone, the people I love most, they all die bloody and way before their time. And I can never do a damn thing about it.”  
  
“C’mon, Sam,” Dean sighs.  
  
“No,” Sam grits out. “It’s the truth and you know it.” He squeezes his eyes closed and huffs out a humorless chuckle. “I was stupid and arrogant enough to think that when I got you back this time that maybe I’d broken the curse somehow, that I’d be able to keep you alive and breathing. But I can’t.” He reopens his eyes and looks up at his big brother, unable to hide the fear and pain and desperation he knows is painted all over his face. “I just got you back,” he rasps. “How am I supposed to let you go again? I barely survived last time, Dean. I’m afraid that I won’t…” he cuts himself off, swallowing thickly, a few tears finally breaking free to trickle down his cheeks. “I don’t wanna lose you. What am I supposed to do? Tell me what to do?” he begs, whispering hoarsely.   
______  
  
Dean has never been able to handle seeing his brother in pain, be it physical or emotional. Seeing him sitting there, tears in his eyes, a few trickling down his cheeks, the pain in his voice as he begs, looking up at Dean like he has all the answers, like he can make it better, breaks Dean’s heart. He looks like the kid he hasn’t been in so long, the kid that still thought that Dean was a hero, that he could do anything, and it fucking  _kills_ him that he’s letting Sam down. Again.   
  
_What am I supposed to do?_   
  
Dean remembers saying those exact same words to Sam’s dead body after Jake stabbed him in Cold Oak. He remembers the desperation, the cold reality of facing the rest of his life without his brother. He remembers the pain and the loneliness and how he didn’t even second guess himself when he drove out to the crossroads and kissed his soul, his life, away.   
  
He remembers watching Sam fall into the hole in Stull Cemetery and how fucked up he was for the entire year afterward. He remembers looking through hundreds of books even though he promised Sam he wouldn’t. He remembers Lisa saying that she knew it was over the moment Sam walked back through the door and even if he didn’t want to admit it at the time, she was right.   
  
He remembers talking Sam out of slamming the door to Hell and the hurt shining in his little brother’s eyes when he admitted that his greatest sin was how many times he let Dean down. He remembers promising Sam that nothing comes before him, past or present, and he meant it with every fiber he had. Still does. He remembers begging for help from any angel who would listen and going against everything he knew was right just to make Sam whole again.   
  
Dean pushes himself up off the bed and drops to his knees in front of his brother. Sam’s still looking up at him with those damn puppy eyes and Dean swallows thickly. He doesn’t want to leave Sam, doesn’t want Sam to have to deal with losing him all over again. And he knows that Sam is right, this time it would more than likely be for good. He doesn’t think they have any more miracles or resurrections left in the tank.   
  
Reaching out, he grabs the back of Sam’s neck and pulls him forward, wrapping his arms around his little brother’s broad shoulders. Sam melts against his chest, his head tucked under Dean’s jaw, and Dean closes his eyes, his chin resting on top of his head. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he whispers.  
  
Sam unwraps his arms from his own legs and slowly slides them around Dean’s waist. He can feel Sam trembling slightly and wonders if it’s from emotion or pain or because of the fact that they’re touching. That same tingly electric charge Dean felt before surges through his own body and he pushes closer to his brother, tilts his head down and buries his nose in the silky-soft strands of Sam’s hair. Sam clings to him, fingers curled into fists in the back of his shirt.   
  
Dean doesn’t want it to – and he still can’t admit it or really even believe it – but this feels right. They’ve always been too close, too tangled up in each other, but Dean has always felt the need to have Sam even closer than he already is and holding him, feeling him pressed against his chest, feeling the warmth of his breath and the beat of his heart settles some ache inside Dean that’s been there for so long he doesn’t even remember how it feels to  _not_ have it.  
  
He fought this so hard, as hard as he’s ever fought anything, but he isn’t sure that he can keep fighting. Knowing that the curse is hurting Sam and that the thought of losing Dean is killing him, knowing that his brother will more than likely give up if Dean dies, is a heavy weight on his shoulders, his heart. But how can he let this happen, let them change their entire relationship? Sam may say it’s just sex but Dean knows that nothing will ever be the same if they actually do this.   
  
Sam makes a soft noise in the back of his throat – almost a whimper – and nuzzles his nose under Dean’s jaw. Pretty much of its own accord, Dean’s hand slides up Sam’s spine, his palm curving around the back of Sam’s head, his fingers tangling in Sam’s hair. His whole body feels like a live-wire, arousal starting to push away the last bit of  _wrong_ that Dean’s still clinging to.   
  
“Dean.” Sam’s voice breaks slightly around his name and he sounds so damn young, so scared. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispers. And the rest of Dean’s resolve crumbles. He just prays that if this works, if it really does save him, that it won’t ruin them in the process.  
  
Using the hold he has on Sam’s hair, Dean tugs his head back just enough so that Sam’s looking up at him. There are still tears in his eyes but no more have fallen and Dean flashes him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “It’s gonna be okay, Sammy,” he murmurs. Before Sam can say anything in response, he dips down and brushes their lips together.  
  
It’s a short, chaste kiss but it still sends a wave of heat and want through his whole body. When Dean pulls back, Sam’s blinking up at him owlishly. If things were different, if he wasn’t about to cross every line that should never be crossed, he’d laugh his ass off at the shell-shocked look on Sam’s face.   
  
Sam’s brow furrows and his lips pull down slightly at the corners and Dean can see he’s gearing up to say something. Dean has resigned himself to the fact that they’re going to do this but the last damn thing he wants to do is actually freaking talk about it.   
  
“Don’t,” he breathes then leans down, slotting their lips together again.  
  
At first, it’s weird. Dean is overly aware of the fact that he’s kissing his little brother. But then Sam moans softly in the back of his throat, his fingers digging into Dean’s back, and tilts his head slightly to the side. The kiss deepens, their tongues sliding together, hot and wet, and then suddenly it isn’t so weird anymore. Dean has kissed  _a lot_ of women in his time and he can admit – if only to himself – that nothing has ever felt like this.   
  
A flash of guilt surges through Dean and he pulls away. They’re both breathing a little heavier and Dean can feel Sam’s chest heaving slightly against his own. His fingers tighten in Sam’s hair and he brings his other hand up, palms Sam’s cheek. He may really, _really_ not want to talk about this but everything is about to change and he’s never really done well with change.   
  
“Dean?” Sam asks softly.  
  
“Are you sure about this, Sammy?” Dean asks. He can hear how rough his own voice is, barely recognizes it. “I mean, really sure?”  
  
“I don’t wanna lose you,” Sam whispers back. “I can’t. So yeah, I’m sure.” Sam flashes him a soft smile, just a hint of his dimples and Dean closes his eyes, drops his forehead to rest against Sam’s. And because Sam still knows him so well, despite the fights and the distance and all the shit between them, he adds quietly, “We’ll be okay, Dean.”  
  
Dean just wishes like hell that he could believe that, that he had Sam’s faith.   
______  
  
Sam closes his eyes and leans more into his brother’s touch. He honestly can’t believe that Dean seems to be finally agreeing to do this. He knows Dean well enough to know that he’s still not really happy about it but for whatever reason he seems to have changed his mind. Sam feels bad for pushing him into something that he’s obviously uncomfortable with, he really does, but he can’t feel bad enough about it to stop it. He has lost so much in his life, already lost Dean too many times to count, and he’s just not strong enough to go through it again. He doesn’t want normal anymore, doesn’t want the safe, apple pie life that he thought he did for the longest time. He wants to keep hunting, eventually retire and grow old, all with his brother right by his side.   
  
He’s not sure how long they sit there like that, basically just holding each other. He knows that they still have something like fourteen hours left but the ever-present pressure of the countdown presses down on him, makes him nervous and anxious. He’s pretty damn sure it’s going to work but just in case it doesn’t, he’d like to have time to look through everything again.   
  
Dean’s palm is warm on his cheek, the touch lighting off those same sparks from the last time they touched through his whole body. The pain that he’s been feeling, the nausea and dizziness, are all gone and Sam barely fights the urge to snuggle closer. Being this close to Dean helps so much, lets him know that his brother is still alive, that this time Sam is going to be able to actually save him. The years of grief and guilt don’t just magically fall away but maybe, just maybe, they can start to heal now, maybe Sam can start to actually forgive himself – even if he’ll never forget.   
  
Even though Dean kissed him first this time, his brother seems to have stalled out on moving things forward. Sam smiles softly and forces his fingers to unclench from the death grip he has on Dean’s shirt and brings his hand up to his brother’s cheek. His fingertips brush against stubble and warm skin and Dean just barely leans into the touch, his eyes finally fluttering open again. The heat in his gaze surprises Sam even though it probably shouldn’t – Dean’s been dealing with this crap for days and even if the arousal was forced it was still there – and it ignites a matching heat throughout his entire body.   
  
Despite the obvious want Dean looks more than a little lost. Sam huffs out a quiet chuckle and tilts his head up, brushing another kiss to Dean’s lips. There’s no hesitation this time, only just the slightest bit of tension, but Dean instantly pushes to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into Sam’s mouth as soon as Sam opens to him. Dean pushes forward, both hands cupping Sam’s cheeks now, trapping him against the wall as he takes full control of the kiss. It’s so damn different than anything Sam has ever done, ever felt, but giving up control to his big brother is much easier than he thought it would be. He clings to Dean’s broad shoulders and lets everything else go, just focusing on the feel of Dean against him, the wet warmth of his lips and tongue, the arousal burning through him.  
  
The kiss feels like it goes on for the longest time but at the same time feels like it is over way too quickly. Dean pulls away, his chest heaving, his lips spit-slick and swollen and there’s a flush across his freckled cheeks. Sam may not have ever been attracted to another man but he’d have to be blind to not see that his brother is freaking gorgeous and right now, he’s even more so. Kissed breathless looks damn good on his brother and Sam feels a surge of warm pride curl in his belly, his groin.  _He_ did that. Dean looks that way because of  _him_ .   
  
“Sammy,” Dean rasps, those intense, lust-dark green eyes locked on him. Sam feels that look down to his bones.   
  
“Can we get off the floor?” Sam asks softly. He wants,  _needs_ , more and it’s frustrating him that he can’t get it in their current position.   
  
“Shit, yeah,” Dean cringes. “Sorry.”  
  
Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “’s okay,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone, tracing his freckles.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes, part annoyance but mostly fondness, and pulls away. Sam feels the loss of his heat, his touch, like a punch to the stomach and he grits his teeth against it. Dean reaches for him as soon as he's standing and Sam grabs his hand, smiling gratefully when his brother helps him up. The bed is right there, just a few short feet away and despite the fact that they have to do this to save Dean – and more importantly, Sam  _wants_ to do it – a sudden flash of nerves stops him cold.  
  
Dean pulls him into a hug and Sam melts against his brother’s chest. “We don’t have to, you know that,” Dean whispers against the side of his head. It warms Sam’s heart that despite  _everything_ , Dean still knows him so well, is still looking out for him and taking care of him – even though Sam will deny out-loud that he needs it; he does though, he needs it more than breathing.  
  
Sam inhales deeply, exhales slowly, and pulls back, just enough to look into his brother’s eyes. “It’s okay,” Sam breathes. “ _I’m_ okay. I wanna.” Sam brushes a kiss to Dean’s lips when he opens them, no doubt to ask again if Sam’s sure. “I’m positive, Dean,” he assures, beating Dean to the punch. “I… I’m not gonna lie and say that I’m not nervous, ‘cause I am. But I want to. I want it…  _you_ .”   
  
Dean swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes wide. Sam bites down on the inside of his jaw and lets Dean look into his eyes, lets him see the want, the need, that Sam’s sure is obvious. This whole time it’s been about just saving Dean. Sam never admitted to wanting it, not even in his own head, until earlier, when they first touched, when Sam first kissed him. He can admit it now, even though it freaks him right the hell out. He doesn’t know if it’s a byproduct of the curse or his own screwed up head, but he actually, really wants this, wants Dean. Maybe it’s wrong, maybe he’ll end up back in Hell because of it someday, but he really just doesn’t fucking care anymore. Their lives have sucked on so many levels but this feels right, feels good, and he knows, deep down, that it could make them happy. They deserve something good for a change.  
  
“Okay,” Dean eventually murmurs, nodding his head slightly. Sam flashes him a small, grateful smile, so glad that Dean didn’t say anything about his confession. He doesn’t know what will happen afterward, doesn’t know if Dean’s even feeling a fraction of what he is, but he doesn’t want to have to worry about that right now on top of everything else. “So, um, what… how…” Dean trails off, frowning – damn-near a pout – and Sam barely bites back a laugh. His brother – the self-proclaimed sex God – fumbling and looking so damn awkward is just freaking adorable.  
  
“How ‘bout we start with just getting undressed?” Sam smiles.  
  
Dean’s eyes are still a little wide but he nods again. They pull apart and Sam almost pulls Dean right back into his arms. The pain doesn’t come back when they’re not touching this time but Sam can feel a slight tightness in his chest. If the way Dean’s rubbing his own chest is any indication, he feels it too. Wanting to minimize the time they have to spend apart, Sam quickly strips. He leaves his boxer briefs on for the moment, thinking that it’ll probably be easier for both of them if they don’t start out completely naked. Dean follows his lead and soon they’re both standing there in their underwear in a slightly strained, awkward silence, just staring at each other.  
  
Sam rolls his eyes and steps around his brother then flops down onto the bed. He grabs Dean’s wrist and tugs him closer, his other hand curling around Dean’s hip. Dean licks his lips and dips down, kisses Sam again slow and thorough, carefully laying him back onto the mattress. Sam lets go of his wrist and grabs the back of his neck, keeping him close as he lies back, pulling Dean with him. They end up pressed close together, their legs entwined, as the kiss continues. Dean’s got one hand in his hair, the other curled tight around Sam’s bicep, and the heat of his brother’s body so close to his own, nothing between them but a few thin pieces of cotton sends a wave of heated blood down to his groin. His cock twitches and Sam tightens his fingers around Dean’s hip, pulling Dean closer.  
  
He can feel the hard line of Dean’s cock against his thigh, the firm muscle of his chest against his side and it’s so different from the soft curves that he’s used to feeling on the rare occasion that he’s intimate with someone. But he can admit that it feels good, the heat and strength of his brother’s body turning him on like he never thought possible. He pushes his fingers just barely beneath the waist of Dean’s boxer briefs, rubs at the warm skin stretched over his hipbone, smiling against Dean’s lips when his brother moans softly.   
  
Reaching up, Sam grabs the hand Dean still has curled around his arm and places it on his own hip. Dean pulls away from the kiss, his brow furrowed slightly. “It’s okay,” Sam breathes. “Touch me. Want’chu to. Need you to.”  
  
Dean licks his lips again, biting down on the bottom one – fuck but that’s sexy; Dean does it all the damn time and Sam never even realized how hot it is – and teases the tips of his fingers over Sam’s hipbone, the V-cut of muscle leading to his groin. The touch is soft, tentative, but it burns through Sam, that electric tingle that he feels from every touch making him shiver. He moans softly and shifts his hips, pulls Dean down into another kiss. Sam’s reaction evidently makes Dean bolder and he slides his palm up Sam’s abs, his ribs, thumb just barely brushing over his nipple.  
  
Sam moans again and arches up slightly into the too-light touches, his fingers tightening around the nape of Dean’s neck, the kiss deepening, turning heated, wet and messy. Dean hums softly against his lips and brushes over his nipple again a little harder. Sam pulls away from the kiss with a gasp, his head pressing back against the pillows. Dean kisses his way down Sam’s jaw to his neck, scrapes his teeth over Sam’s thundering pulse at the same time that he tweaks Sam’s nipple.  
  
“Fuck,” Sam moans, eyes squeezing closed at the pleasure coursing through his body. He feels like he’s about to combust and Dean hasn’t even touched his cock yet, idly wonders if he’ll even survive this, wonders how Dean just seems to instinctively know how to touch and kiss him.   
  
Dean’s hand slides down his chest and abs again, stops just above the waist of his underwear. He’s still licking, kissing and nibbling at Sam’s neck and he can’t help but wonder if he’s leaving marks, hopes like hell he is.   
  
“More, Dean, please,” Sam begs breathlessly, his mouth opening once again without consent from his brain.  
  
Dean pulls away from his neck, their eyes locking together, as Dean’s hand slides down over the front of his boxer briefs, palming his cock. Sam’s hips jerk at the touch, his cock twitching – fuck but it’s been way too long since he’s had someone else’s hand touching him – and Dean smirks down at him. For the first time since this happened, Dean looks like  _Dean_ again – Sam’s annoying yet awesome big brother – and relief spreads through Sam’s whole body, his heart. No matter what, he knows they’re going to be okay.   
  
But Sam will  _always_ be a little brother, first and foremost, and he can’t let Dean get the better of him. He trails his fingers over Dean’s abs then down further, dipping beneath the waist of Dean’s underwear. He palms his brother’s bare cock – cringing a little in sympathy when he feels just how hot and hard Dean is – and flashes Dean a smirk of his own when Dean groans, his hips jerking forward. Dean’s smirk transforms into a fond, proud smile before he dips down and slams their lips together again.   
  
Coming to some unspoken agreement, they both squirm and wiggle out of their underwear at the same time, their lips and tongues sliding together again in another messy, desperate kiss. Dean settles back down against Sam’s side, his cock a long, hot line against Sam’s thigh, and Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean’s hand is on Sam’s dick again and Sam hears himself whine, bucking up into the loose hold, his fingers digging into the strong, exquisite muscles of his brother’s back.   
______  
  
Dean has  _never_ been nervous about sex. There are very few things in his life that Dean knows with absolute certainty that he’s good at and fucking is one of them. But with Sam in his arms, hard and leaking, moaning and whining, bucking his hips and clinging to Dean, he feels like a fumbling virgin. And it's not even because it’s the whole ‘first time with a guy thing’ either. It’s all because it’s  _Sam_ . As much as he’d loved Lisa and even Cassie, as much as he’s cared about the very few other girlfriends he’s had in the past,  _no one_ has ever mattered more, will ever hold a candle to Sam.   
  
Sam pulls away from the kiss with a gasp, blinking owlishly up at Dean, his eyes dark but glittering. He wants to shy away from the feeling, the emotion, he can so easily read in Sam’s gaze, from the confession he made about wanting this, wanting  _Dean_ . Granted, it’s been a few years since Sam’s whole ‘I want a normal life’ thing has been an issue but Dean knows his brother and he doubts that Sam has changed his mind completely about wanting that someday. And fucking your brother, wanting your brother, is about as far away from normal as possible. Even though Dean still has his doubts and reservations about this, now that he’s given in, he can admit that nothing before – and he doubts anything ever will – has ever felt so damn right. He doesn't really know what that means, doesn't understand how  _this_ can feel anything but wrong, forced and unnatural. And he can fully admit that he’s terrified that when this is all over, if it works and Dean doesn’t drop dead the next day, that Sam will come to his senses and realize what they’ve done, what Dean did to him, and he’ll lose Sam once again, forever this time. There is no coming back from something like this.   
  
Sam slides one hand up Dean’s back, long fingers slipping into the short hair on the back of Dean’s head. There’s a small frown pulling down the corners of Sam’s kiss-bruised lips and a furrow between his brows. Dean realizes that his hand has stopped moving, merely loosely cradling his brother’s hard length, while his mind wandered and he silently started freaking out again.   
  
“Are you okay?” Sam asks softly. Dean tries his best to either smirk or even smile at his brother but he can’t force either expression onto his face. Sam’s frown deepens, worry quickly replacing the heat in his eyes and he tries to sit up, both hands coming up to frame Dean’s face. “Dean?” he murmurs. “Talk to me, man. You’re kinda freakin’ me out here.”  
  
Dean lets go of Sam’s erection, pressing his hand against his brother’s chest, over his thundering heart. Despite the worry still coursing through Dean, his own erection hasn’t gone down a bit and for the millionth time he silently curses the damn monster that did this to him, to  _them_ .   
  
Dean licks his lips and scrambles to slam his usual mask back in place, to quickly rebuild the walls that Sam had managed to shatter. Sam’s the only person that’s ever been able to get past Dean’s defenses and see the  _real_ Dean, the broken parts of himself that he tries so hard to hide.   
  
Sam sighs softly, his thumbs brushing lightly over Dean’s cheek bones. “Don’t do that,” Sam whispers. Dean quirks an eyebrow in silent question and Sam rolls his eyes in response. “You know damn-well what I’m talkin’ about,” his brother grumbles. “Don’t hide from me and don’t shut me out. Talk to me.”  
  
Dean huffs out a sigh and shakes his head. He feels like a damn chick and a freaking cry baby. He rolls away from Sam, onto his back, staring unseeing at the ceiling. He really wishes that they hadn’t gotten completely undressed now. He’s never felt so uncomfortable being naked. “Sammy,” Dean sighs, closing his eyes. He can’t risk seeing Sam’s face, his brother’s dewy, sensitive eyes right now. “We can’t… This is wrong,” he mutters.  
  
Dean gasps, his eyes snapping open when he feels Sam’s weight settle across his chest, Sam’s giant hand once again cupping his jaw. Sam’s eyes are narrowed and Dean watches in morbid fascination as so many emotions flash through those champagne-hazel depths; frustration, anger, love, want, hurt, determination plus so many more.  
  
“First?” Sam replies, voice deadly calm and even. Dean blinks, taken aback. Sam is just like their dad, at his most dangerous when his voice is like that. “You’re a fucking idiot.” Dean frowns, lips opening automatically to defend himself, but Sam shakes his head, eyes narrowing even more. “No, just listen. Whatever you’re thinking that’s got you changing your mind again, you’re wrong.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean grits out, ignoring his brother’s warning.  
  
“Don’t ‘Sam’ me,” Sam snaps back. He inhales deeply, obviously calming himself. “Things were fine, Dean,” he continues after a moment, his tone still calm and even but softer. “ _You_ were fine. So what happened?”  
  
Dean’s jaw clenches and he shakes his head. “Really, Sam? What happened?” he repeats incredulously. “How ‘bout the fact that I had my hand on my little brother’s dick?!”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam replies slowly. “Which was awesome ‘til you stopped.” Sam’s brow furrows again, hurt and confusion crowding out every other emotion in his eyes. Dean curses to himself. Damn Sam and those expressive freaking eyes. “I thought you wanted…” Sam whispers but cuts himself off before finishing the thought.  
  
All Dean’s hard work to try and rebuild his defenses crumbles. “What happens after, Sam?” he asks quietly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“What happens after we do this?” Dean clarifies.  
  
“It breaks the curse and you don’t die,” Sam replies slowly, evenly, tone full of confusion.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “That’s not… I know that part, Sam.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re asking me here, Dean.”  
  
“Tomorrow, if this works and we wake up and I don’t die… What happens then?”  
  
“I… don’t know,” Sam admits softly.  
  
“I do,” Dean sighs. “It’ll  _ruin_ us.”  
  
“No, Dean…”  
  
“It will,” Dean interrupts. “You’ll be free from the effects of the curse too and you’ll realize what we did and you’ll hate me. But mostly, you’ll hate yourself.”  
  
“That’s not…” Sam frowns, “No, I won’t, Dean. I wanna… I want you,” he whispers, voice cracking just slightly.  
  
“No you don’t, kiddo,” Dean smiles sadly. “It’s the curse.”  
  
“I know my own mind, Dean,” Sam snaps.  
  
“And I know you too,” Dean murmurs. “This, us? This ain’t normal, Sammy.”   
  
Sam rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Normal,” he repeats. “I really hate that fucking word.” He shifts his weight slightly, pushing closer – Dean bites the inside of his jaw nearly bloody when Sam’s still mostly-hard cock brushes against his own – his arms bracketing Dean’s head, both hands gripping his face, forcing him to look directly into Sam’s eyes. “You know so much?” he asks quietly but continues before Dean can answer, “Do you know that my perfect version of normal is hunting with you,  _being_ with you, until we can’t anymore, then hang it all up and retire?  _Together_ .” He licks his lips, eyes boring into Dean’s. “I tried the other way,” he damn-near whispers. “Too many times. I tried to deny what was right in front of me. And I can’t anymore. This, us? That’s it for me, man.  _This_ is what I want. I’m done hiding it or denying it and I’m done running away from it. You and me, Dean. Come whatever.”  
  
Dean honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. For the longest time, for  _years_ , he’d wanted to be enough for Sam, wanted their life, their family, their bond, to be enough. Hearing Sam saying that it is loosens a band around his heart that’s been there since the first time Sam ran away from them, from  _him_ .   
  
“Sammy,” he breathes.  
  
Sam smiles softly, his thumb brushing down Dean’s cheek, over the corner of his mouth. “So you done bein’ an idiot now?” he asks quietly, teasingly, hazel eyes sparkling.  
  
Dean still has his doubts. Not really about what Sam said but about Sam meaning that he really wants Dean. But they’ve been through worse and still managed to make it through somehow. Whatever breaks from this he’ll just have to make damn sure to fix it.  
  
“Quit callin’ me an idiot,” Dean grumbles.  
  
“Then quit bein’ one,” Sam shoots back predictably. His smile grows and he leans down, lips hovering just over Dean’s. “Jerk.”  
  
“Bitch,” Dean replies automatically before reaching up and grabbing the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him down the rest of the way.  
  
The kiss starts slow and easy, nearly chaste but it doesn’t take long for them to end up where they were before Dean’s mini meltdown. Sam moans softly, opening easily when Dean licks over his bottom lip, their tongues sliding together. Arousal curls in Dean’s stomach, his groin, and for the first time since this all started he can honestly say that it’s his own, not forced on him by the damn curse. Dean echoes his brother’s moan, deepening the kiss even more, one hand still gripping the back of Sam’s neck, the other curling tight around the sharp jut of Sam’s hip.  
______  
  
Sam melts into his brother’s embrace, kissing him back eagerly. He forces the doubt and insecurity from Dean’s latest freak-out to the back of his mind, focusing on nothing more than the wet slide of their lips and tongues and the heat of his brother’s body against his own.   
  
He pulls away from the kiss with a gasp when Dean flips him over onto his back. Dean smirks down at him, eyes dark and glittering. Sam huffs and reaches up, grabs the back of Dean’s neck and pulls him back down, slamming their lips together. He rocks his hips up, pleasure shooting through his entire body when his cock rubs against Dean’s hip. Dean’s fingers curl into a fist in his hair, tugging just this side of painful on the strands and Sam can’t stop the moan that rumbles in his chest. Dean’s other hand slides down over his waist, his hip, around to palm his ass, fingers digging in as he pulls Sam closer, silently urging him to thrust up again.   
  
Sam tightens his fingers on the nape of Dean’s neck, claws at Dean’s back with his other hand as he squirms beneath his brother, tugging Dean impossibly closer, his legs opening wide as Dean ends up settled between his thighs, their cocks pressed together between their stomachs. Dean grinds down against him, sweat and pre-come easing the almost too-dry slide of friction of their trapped lengths. Dean’s cock, so hard and hot, pressing and rubbing against his own makes his head spin, the feeling unlike anything Sam has ever experienced. He keens against his brother’s lips, tightens his legs around Dean’s lean hips and arches into Dean’s thrusts.  
  
Dean breaks the kiss, pulling back enough to look down at Sam, his fingers gently brushing the hair out of Sam’s eyes. “I don’t… I’ve never…” Dean mutters, shaking his head slightly.  
  
Sam knows that. But it still makes his stomach flip, his blood rush harder through his veins. “I know, me too,” he replies softly. “It’s okay.”  
  
“I don’t wanna hurt you,” Dean whispers.  
  
Sam’s heart warms and he smiles up at Dean. “You won’t,” Sam replies, soft but firm. “I trust you.” The last thing Sam really wants to discuss at the moment is his brother’s many previous conquests but he still asks quietly, “Have you… I mean, I know never with a guy but what about with a girl?”  
  
Dean’s cheeks flush slightly – it’s really freaking adorable – and he rolls his eyes. “Sam,” he huffs. Sam just raises an eyebrow and stares up at Dean. “Fine,” he sighs. “A few times, alright?”  
  
“Then you know what you’re doin’,” Sam shrugs.  
  
Dean smirks and slides his hand over Sam’s hip, palm curling around the bone like Sam’s body was made just for him, his touch. “How ‘bout you?”  
  
It's Sam’s turn to blush. But fair is fair so he nods. “Couple times,” he admits softly. “Can we stop talkin’ about this now?”  
  
“You brought it up,” Dean chuckles.  
  
“And now I’m droppin’ it,” Sam mutters.  
  
Dean smiles and dips down, brushing a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips. Sam can’t stop himself from returning the smile, his hands sliding over his brother’s strong, broad shoulders, down his back. “We need lube,” he whispers, feeling the blush across his cheeks deepening, spreading down his chest.  
  
Dean nods and licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one. Sam barely bites back a groan and leans up, kissing beneath Dean’s jaw, teeth scraping over his pulse. Dean shifts over just enough to reach the table beside his bed, pulls out the drawer and rummages around inside. He pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom, dropping both on the bed next to Sam’s hip. Sam doesn’t question the lube – he’s got a bottle himself in his own room – but he eyes the condom, his nose wrinkling.   
  
“What’s that face for?” Dean asks quietly, one eyebrow quirked.   
  
Sam picks up the condom and tosses it back on the table, ignoring Dean half-growling his name in warning. He isn’t sure if the curse will actually break if they use it, isn’t willing to take the chance that it won’t if Dean doesn’t actually come inside him. Just the thought has Sam’s blood pumping a little harder and he can admit – if only to himself – that he wants it, wants to feel what it’s like to have Dean’s release filling him up.   
  
He refocuses on Dean’s face, not at all surprised to see his brother scowling at him. “Don’t give me that look,” Sam huffs.  
  
“Now who’s bein’ an idiot?” Dean snaps back. “I know damn-well that I taught you better than that…”  
  
Sam leans up and kisses Dean, cutting him off mid-sentence. He smirks when he pulls back and sees Dean blinking owlishly at him. He likes that he now has a sure-fire way of shutting his brother up. “You did,” Sam answers, smiling sweetly. “But we don’t know if it’ll affect the curse.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“We don’t know if there has to be, um… a  _fluid_ exchange,” Sam mutters, grimacing a little at his own choice of words. Dean’s nose wrinkles adorably as well. “And I’m not willin’ to risk it.” Sam slides his arms back around Dean, fingertips lightly teasing at the small of his back. “’sides, you’re my brother,” he adds softly. “I trust you with my life, Dean.”  
  
“Alright,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. “Freakin’ sap.” He’s teasing, mostly, so Sam chooses to ignore it, focusing instead on the feeling of Dean’s warm, soft skin beneath his fingers, his palms. It’s like now that he's started touching, that Dean’s  _letting_ him, he can’t force himself to stop. They’ve always been extremely tactile with each other, especially when they were younger. They’ve either grown out of it or the strain on their relationship in the past few years has made it less automatic but either way, Sam missed it.   
  
Dean kisses him once more before pulling away, shifting over so that he’s lying beside Sam again, Dean’s legs tangled around one of Sam’s. He watches as Dean grabs the lube, his brow furrowed slightly, the most adorable look of concentration on his face as he pours some over his fingers, rubbing them together. Sam smiles and reaches up, his fingertips brushing against Dean’s cheek bone, gently tracing over his freckles. Dean’s eyes snap back up to Sam’s and the raw, naked worry –  _fear_ even – he sees in those mesmerizing emerald depths takes his breath away.  
  
“Dean,” he whispers, throat tight with emotion.  
  
“Can we… Do we have to do it this way?” Dean blurts out.  
  
“I don’t… What’d’ya mean?” Sam asks, frowning in confusion. “Face to face?”  
  
“No,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I mean…” he huffs out a sigh, the tips of his ears and the cut of his cheek bones turning pink. “D’you have to be the one…” he trails off, awkwardly gesturing with his lube-slick fingers.  
  
It takes Sam a few seconds to figure out what his brother is fumbling to ask but in his defense, the question is so out of left field that it throws him completely. He’d honestly never even thought about being the one to fuck Dean and not just because the lore was pretty specific about the victim of the curse being the one to do the fucking. Before this, it’s not something that Sam had ever wanted, or even been curious about, but now, inexplicably, he doesn’t want it any other way. The thought just feels wrong.   
  
But instead of saying any of that, or even just telling Dean what the lore said, his mouth opens and he hears himself ask, “Is that what you want?”  
  
The blush across Dean’s cheeks deepens and his jaw muscle twitches a bit. “What I  _want_ is to not hurt you,” he grits out.  
  
Sam’s heart warms all over again at his brother’s confession, the concern he obviously has for Sam, even though his natural instinct is to point out – forcefully if necessary – that he’s not a freaking girl, that he can handle a little pain just fine; after living through all the hunts and his time in Hell, he doesn’t think a little bit of anal sex is going to be what breaks him.   
  
“According to the lore, it has to be this way.”  
  
“If it’s too much, I’m stoppin’,” Dean warns, his tone deep, pure big brother  _don’t argue with me_ .   
  
“Not a freakin’ girl, Dean,” Sam can’t stop himself from huffing.   
______  
  
Dean rolls his eyes again, barely fighting back the natural instinct to bicker with Sam just to cover how freaked out and worried he is. He still has his doubts about this, still doesn't know what will happen after the curse breaks – if this even works that is, he's still not so sure about that either – how they can ever go back to normal, or well, their version of normal that is. He doesn't understand how Sam can be so damn sure, doesn't get why his brother isn't freaking out the same as he is.   
  
Then there's the worry that he might actually hurt Sam on top of all his other concerns.   
  
And Sam is just acting like this is any other night, like they're not about to cross lines that should never be crossed, like they're not about to change the very nature of their entire relationship.  
  
Sam's fingers brushing over his cheek draws Dean's attention fully back to him, unable to stop himself from looking up into Sam's eyes, years – decades – of conditioning leaving him incapable of ignoring his brother. Sam's eyes are dark, full of heat and need and something that Dean can't bring himself to look too closely at, something that looks a lot like love. But it's the complete, absolute trust in those hazel depths that takes his breath away, that hits him like a sucker punch right in the gut. After all that they've been through, all the lies and hurt and mistrust, all the things that Dean has done, all the ways that his best intentions have blown up in his face, he never thought he'd see Sam looking at him like that again. Honestly, he pretty much figured that he didn't deserve his brother's unwavering, blind trust anymore.   
  
Sam smiles, soft and sweet, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks and Dean suddenly can't look away.  Objectively, he's always been aware of the fact that Sam is a good-looking guy. He's seen the attention that his brother gets even if Sam himself never seems to be aware of it but it's always just been something abstract. Dean hasn't ever been attracted to another man, even if he is secure enough in himself to be able to admit when a guy is good-looking. But looking at Sam right now he can admit, if only in his own head, that his little brother is beautiful.   
  
Sam's fingers slide down over his jaw, his collarbone, then down his chest and stomach, not stopping until he reaches Dean's cock. He licks his lips and bites down on the bottom one, not once looking away as he palms Dean's shaft, thumb smearing through the pre-come leaking steadily from the tip. Dean groans, his jaw clenching, just that slight touch making him twitch, fresh arousal curling warm in his stomach, his groin. Sam slowly wraps his fingers around Dean, loosely fisting his pulsing length, a plea and a challenge in his eyes.   
  
Dean grabs the lube again and pours more over his own fingers, dropping his hand down between Sam's legs, brushing past his balls, teasing the thin skin behind. Sam's lips part slightly and he shifts his hips, eyes widening where he's still staring up at Dean. A low moan rumbles from the back of Sam's throat, his legs spreading open more and Dean slips his fingers back further, just barely brushing against the puckered furl of Sam's hole.   
  
Before Dean can lose his nerve he presses against the tight ring of muscle, circling just the tip of his finger around Sam’s rim. Sam finally blinks slowly, his lips dropping open even more, his breath hitching in his chest. Dean watches him intently, mesmerized, as he increases the pressure slightly, feeling his hole flutter against his finger.   
  
“Okay?” Dean hears himself whisper.  
  
Sam swallows thickly and nods. He's stopped moving his hand, just loosely cradling Dean's cock but it doesn't really matter, just the pressure and the heat is enough to make Dean's head spin. Dean nods back and slowly, carefully increases the pressure a little more, his cock twitching in Sam's fist when he feels the muscle give slightly. Sam's cock jerks, fresh pre-come leaking from the slit and he finally looks away, turning his head, burying his face in the crook of Dean's neck.   
  
Dean slides his arm around his brother's shoulders and holds him close, pushing against Sam's rim, sinking just the tip of his finger inside him. Dean squeezes his eyes closed and buries his nose in the sweat-damp mess of Sam's hair, the tight, clenching heat – even around just his finger – making his cock throb. He pushes more of his finger inside, slowly, not stopping until he's buried to the knuckle. Sam makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and presses closer to Dean's chest, a slight tremble running through his entire body.  
  
“Hurt?” Dean rasps, idly wondering when he lost the ability to actually form complete sentences.   
  
“Not really,” Sam answers softly. “Just… kinda weird, I guess. Burns a little.”  
  
“Need me to stop?” Dean asks, making sure to keep his hand completely still. He can feel Sam’s inner muscles fluttering around his finger, can feel the vice-tight clench start to loosen just the slightest bit.   
  
“No,” Sam answers easily, quickly. He tips his head up just slightly, nuzzling his nose under Dean’s jaw. “Move a bit,” he adds after a few moments.   
  
Dean licks his lips and nods, inhaling deeply as he slowly, carefully, starts to withdraw his finger. Sam makes another noise in the back of his throat, his hips shifting a bit, as Dean pushes back in, eventually falling into a steady rhythm, thrusting his finger into Sam’s loosening entrance. The drag of those smooth walls, the way the muscles clench and unclench around him, almost like they’re clutching at him, is almost too much, the thought of feeling that around his aching, leaking cock sending a fresh wave of heated blood straight to Dean’s throbbing shaft.   
  
Sam moans suddenly, his mouth opening against Dean’s neck, teeth scraping against his heated skin. “Fuck, Dean,” Sam pants. “So good. Do that again.”  
  
Dean honestly has no freaking clue what the hell he did. He’d been lost in his own thoughts, thrusting into Sam more out of instinct than anything else. Making sure that he pays complete attention, Dean pushes his finger back in deep, brow furrowing when he rubs against a spot that makes Sam moan again, his brother’s hand flying up to grab his bicep, Sam’s fingers digging into the muscle.   
  
“Holy crap,” Sam breathes, pulling his head back enough to look up at Dean, his eyes wide.   
  
“What?” Dean asks, both eyebrows raised.  
  
“Pretty sure you found my prostate,” Sam answers breathlessly, his cheeks flushing even darker. Sure, Dean knows what a prostate is and he’s heard about the pleasure possible from stimulating it, but he really didn’t know it would be like this. Sam swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing, lips parted as he pants. “I didn’t realize…” he trails off, blinking owlishly.  
  
Dean tilts his head to the side, watching Sam’s face intently as he searches out the small mound again. Sam’s eyes slam closed and he moans even louder when Dean hits it again, head pressing back against the pillow, back and neck arching. Dean drags his gaze down the bow of Sam’s body, eyes widening when he sees Sam’s cock twitch, fresh pre-come leaking from the swollen head and dribbling down the thick shaft.   
  
“Sammy?” Dean murmurs, unsure what he’s even asking.  
  
“More, Dean,” Sam demands hoarsely, voice strained and breathy. He blinks his eyes open slowly, heated gaze locking on Dean. “Oh fuck, please. More…”  
  
Dean nods and carefully pushes a second finger in next to the first. Sam’s brow furrows a bit and he bites down on his bottom lip. Afraid that he’s hurting his brother, Dean stops, two fingers halfway inside. “Don’t stop,” Sam gasps.   
  
His chest is heaving and he’s covered in a light sheen of sweat, hair plastered to his cheeks and temples, tan skin flushed pink, muscles rippling. The thought of how beautiful he looks like this hits Dean again and he can’t stop himself from dipping down, lips sliding against Sam’s. The kiss quickly turns heated and Dean gets lost in the press of their lips, the wet slide of their tongues. He’s surprised when Sam tilts his hips down, burying Dean’s fingers all the way.   
  
He pulls away from the kiss reluctantly, frowning slightly. Sam flashes him a small but very real smile. “Feels good,” he whispers. Dean quirks an eyebrow. “I, uh, ‘m kinda gettin’ used to it, the burn and stretch…” The flush along his cheeks spreads to the tips of his ears and Sam drops his eyes to Dean’s chest. “Kinda like the way it feels.”  
  
Dean quirks his fingers, rubbing harder, more insistently, over Sam’s sweet spot, his cock twitching eagerly when Sam keens softly, his hips twisting and tilting down, trying to bury Dean’s fingers deeper. He tightens his arm around Sam’s shoulders, keeping him pressed as close as possible to his chest, groaning softly when his dick rubs against Sam’s thigh. After a few long moments, Dean adds another finger, jaw clenching at the tight, wet heat, the way Sam throws his head back, eyes squeezed closed, his whole body shaking.   
  
Licking his lips, Dean dips down and kisses Sam again, sliding down over the hinge of his jaw before Sam can deepen the kiss, scraping his teeth over Sam’s thundering pulse. Sam whimpers, his fingers gripping Dean’s bicep even harder, short, blunt nails digging into Dean’s sweat-slick skin. Smirking to himself, Dean bites down harder, blinking owlishly when Sam cries out, Sam’s hand letting go of his arm only to claw at his shoulder.   
  
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam moans, hips trembling and jerking. “’m ready. Please, c’mon.”  
  
Dean wants to argue. Sure he can tell that Sam’s loosened up quite a bit but he still feels so tight around Dean’s fingers, still feels like Dean will tear him apart if he tries to shove his cock in there. “Sam,” he murmurs, stilling his hand. Sam blinks his eyes open and they snap up to Dean’s, dark and heavy-lidded. “I don’t think…”  
  
“Dean, please,” Sam begs softly. “’m ready. Need more. Need  _you_ .” Dean inhales deeply, exhales slowly, the hand gripping Sam’s shoulder sliding up into his hair, curling into a loose fist in the sweat-damp strands. Sam leans into the touch, brushes a soft, sweet kiss to the corner of Dean’s lips. “ _Please_ ,” Sam whispers, staring up at him with those soft, needy eyes that Dean has always been unable to resist.  
  
“Okay, Sammy,” Dean whispers back, tips of his fingers rubbing against Sam’s scalp. “’s okay. I got’cha, baby.” He carefully pulls his fingers away, kissing Sam again when he whines, shushing him softly. “Easy,” he murmurs.  
  
Taking another deep breath, Dean shifts over and settles between Sam’s spread legs and grabs the lube, ignoring the way his own hand trembles a bit as he slicks himself up. Sam smiles up at him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders as soon as he leans over, his soft inner thighs cradling Dean’s hips. Reaching between them, he grabs the base of his cock and positions himself against Sam’s slick, loosened hole. He glances up at his brother, their eyes locking together as they both seem to freeze for a few long moments. Dean wants to ask again if Sam’s sure, wants to beg him not to go through with this, wants to plead with Sam to either find another way or just let him go. But he can’t. He knows what it feels like to lose Sam, knows what Sam went through the times that he’s lost Dean and he can’t put his brother through that again.   
  
Sam’s eyes soften and he reaches up, palming Dean’s cheek, thumb brushing over the bone. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, likely reading the hesitation and the worry in Dean’s expression. “ _We’re_ okay.” He leans up enough to slide their lips together, pushing his tongue into Dean’s mouth, kissing him wet and slow and achingly perfect. “Want it, Dean,” he adds quietly. “Wanna feel you.”  
______  
  
Sam holds his breath, watching the emotion flickering through his brother’s eyes. Honestly, at this point he’s pretty sure that he’ll end up in tears if Dean tries to back out now.   
  
The pleasure of Dean’s fingers working him open, rubbing against his prostate and stretching his rim was a bit of a surprise. Logically, he knew that it had to be enjoyable – people wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t – but he wasn’t expecting just  _how_ enjoyable, how fucking good, it would feel. His whole body is buzzing with sensation, his cock hard and leaking, his balls swollen and heavy and ready to explode. He’s more turned on than he can remember feeling in a  _long_ damn time and he really wants to come. And he wants Dean inside him when he does.   
  
Dean dips down and kisses him once more, teasing his tongue against Sam’s. He’s so distracted by the pleasurable sensation of Dean’s lips against his own – he’s pretty sure that he’s becoming dangerously addicted to kissing Dean – that he almost misses the pressure of the blunt head of Dean’s cock pressing against his hole.   
  
He pulls away from the kiss and glances up at his brother, his whole body tensing up instinctively, despite how much he wants this. The slight burn that he felt – and found that he really kind of liked – from Dean’s thick fingers is more pronounced and he inhales sharply, breath hitching in his chest.   
  
“Easy, Sammy,” Dean rasps, tone strained, almost broken. “Gotta relax. C’mon and breathe for me, baby.”  
  
Sam digs his fingers into the strong, thick muscles of Dean’s shoulders and stares into his eyes, the sound of his brother’s deep, raspy voice washing over him. Dean cards his fingers through Sam’s hair, pushing the damp strands away from his forehead, and Sam leans slightly into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed as he focuses on the feeling of Dean all around him, his brother’s heat and scent, the rhythm of his breathing. After a few moments that feel like a small eternity, Sam can hear Dean hum softly over the sound of his own blood thundering in his ears, can feel the vice-like clench around Dean’s cock start to loosen.  
  
Dean exhales slowly, deep and a little shaky, and he flashes Sam a slightly strained smile when he reopens his eyes. He dips down and brushes a kiss to Sam’s lips. “Y’okay?” he breathes.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam whispers back and forces himself to let go of the death-grip he has on his brother’s shoulders. “Keep goin’.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean sighs, brow furrowed. Despite the obvious concern and worry, Dean’s cock is still rock hard, just the thick head holding Sam open.  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam huffs. “ _I’m_ okay. Just… Move please, Dean.”  
  
To his surprise, Dean actually listens. He still doesn’t look really happy about it but he pushes forward slowly. Too slowly actually. Sam can feel every searing inch splitting him open and it’s almost too much. He’s pretty sure that just getting it over with would be better than this. Inhaling deeply, Sam twists his hips and pushes back against Dean, forcing him in deeper, faster.   
  
  
“Sam,” Dean repeats with a frown.  
  
“C’mon,” Sam pants. “This slow shit is killin’ me. Just fuckin’ do it.”  
  
Dean looks skeptical but he pushes in faster, harder, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt. They both freeze, chests heaving, staring at each other. Sam can feel the hard length of Dean’s cock deep inside him, can swear he can feel the heated throb. Now that the slow slide is over, the burn is starting to let up, leaving behind a fullness that Sam finds he kind of likes.   
  
Sam slides his hands across Dean’s broad shoulders, down the strong muscles of his back. He can feel his brother trembling slightly and he’s surprised to realize that he’s shaking as well. Lifting his head, he brushes a kiss to the corner of Dean’s lips, sighing softly when he feels a bit of the tension in his muscles relaxing. Dean lets out a breath as well and shifts his weight slightly, both hands ending up buried in Sam’s hair.   
  
“Are you okay?” Dean asks again, tone soft but even more strained.  
  
“I’m good,” Sam replies honestly. He tightens his arms around Dean’s shoulders, thighs squeezing his lean hips. “You can move.”  
  
Dean swallows thickly and nods, jaw clenching as he draws his hips back. The second thrust is easier, smoother, and it doesn’t take long for Dean to settle into a steady, even rhythm. Sam jerks his hips up against Dean’s, moving in perfect sync with his brother as they do in every other aspect of their lives. The pleasure from before starts to build again, Sam’s cock once again hard and leaking where it’s trapped between their stomachs. He clings to Dean, fingers digging into his back, writhing and twisting beneath his brother.   
  
Dean shifts the angle just slightly, his next thrust hitting Sam’s prostate and a low moan tears from Sam’s throat as his cock twitches almost painfully. “Fuck, Dean,” Sam pants. “Right there.” Dean’s eyes widen slightly but he nods, making sure to keep that same perfect angle. “More,” Sam hears himself beg breathlessly. “Please, Dean. Harder, deeper…”  
  
Dean picks up the pace, thrusting into Sam as he asked, hard and deep, his jaw clenching. Sam moans, his back arching. To his surprise, Dean slides his arms beneath Sam, fingers curling over his shoulders, holding Sam tight against his chest. “Fuck, Sam,” Dean murmurs, dark, stormy-green eyes locked on Sam’s. “Feels so good, baby boy.”  
  
A shiver wracks Sam’s body, fresh pulse of heated blood surging through his veins. He’s not sure if Dean even realizes that he’d said it but hearing that decades’ old  nickname right now hits Sam hard, turns him on in a way he doesn’t really think it should.  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” he moans softly, heat pooling low in his stomach, his groin tightening. He’s already so freaking close, pleasure so strong it’s close to pain singing through him. “Please.”  
  
“Does it feel good, Sammy?” Dean asks hoarsely. Sam doesn’t know if Dean really can’t tell or just wants the reassurance or if he’s talking just to talk. Either way, Sam nods, unable to make his brain or mouth work well enough to form words. “You close?” Sam whimpers when Dean gives a particularly hard thrust, short fingernails dragging down Dean’s sweat-slick back. “Touch yourself, baby,” Dean half-growls, half-begs. “Make yourself come for me.”  
  
Sam shoves one hand between them before Dean even gets the command all the way out. He hisses when he wraps his fingers around his own hot, stiff flesh, sure that he’s  _never_ been so hard in his freaking life. Dean pulls back just enough to look down between their bodies, gaze intent on Sam’s hand, watching him jerk himself off. Sam rubs his thumb over the swollen, sticky-wet head of his cock, smearing the copious pre-come down his shaft, groaning at the slick slide. Dean’s pace picks up, his hips snapping almost brutally, his rhythm gone completely erratic.   
  
“Fuck that’s hot,” Dean breathes, pulling out almost all the way before slamming forward, forcing Sam open wide, his shaft dragging along his sensitive rim and his cock-head nailing his prostate perfectly. “God, Sam… Gonna fuckin’ come…”  
  
Before he can warn Dean that he’s right there as well, white-hot pleasure burns through Sam and his balls  _throb_ , pulling up tight against his body. He cries out when his orgasm hits, his release almost scalding hot where it hits his stomach, his chest. Dean does his best to keep the rhythm, to help Sam through it, but after a handful of shaky thrusts he pushes in deep, so deep it almost hurts, groaning low in his throat, his eyes squeezing closed. Sam lifts his head and bites down on his brother’s shoulder, his whole body still trembling as he works through the rest of his climax, distantly aware of Dean’s cock pulsing inside him. Even though he’s pretty sure that it’s not possible, he swears he can even feel the liquid warmth of Dean’s come filling him up.  
  
Letting go of the skin he’d bit, Sam blinks owlishly at the mark his teeth left, aftershocks of pleasure making him shiver. Dean groans again softly and settles against Sam’s chest, head resting on Sam’s shoulder, his face buried in Sam’s neck. He rubs one shaky hand down Dean’s back, eyes fluttering closed when he feels Dean’s lips brush softly against his over-heated skin.   
  
“You okay?” Dean asks quietly, voice rough and hoarse and a little shaky.  
  
“Mmhmm,” Sam hums in agreement, turns his head enough to nuzzle against his brother’s temple. “You?”  
  
“’m okay,” Dean murmurs.   
  
They lie like that for a few more long moments before Dean shifts his hips, his softening cock slipping from Sam. He can’t help the soft, unhappy noise that escapes. Dean flops over onto the mattress next to him and Sam wants to pull him back, wants to wrap his arms and legs around him, keep his weight pressing him down into the bed. Sighing softly he turns his head and looks over at his brother, his stomach twisting. Dean’s staring up at the ceiling, his face carefully blank. Sam can already feel Dean pulling away from him.   
  
“D’you…” Sam starts, his voice breaking slightly. He clears his throat, heart sinking when Dean’s whole body tenses. “Is the curse gone?” he asks softly.  
  
The slight effects that Sam had been feeling seem to be gone. Granted, that could be because he’s so close to Dean or that his body is still humming with a post-orgasmic buzz. Knowing if Dean is better will let him know if this actually worked the way it should have.  
  
Dean inhales deeply, his brow furrowed slightly, and Sam can see him taking stock of his own body. “Uh, yeah,” Dean eventually mutters. “Seems so.” He sounds surprised. Sam rolls his eyes and turns his head back so that he’s staring at the ceiling as well. He knew that Dean was skeptical, that he really didn’t believe in the whole soul mates thing but it still hurts even though Sam doesn’t want to let it. “Guess we’ll know for sure when you come in here in the mornin’ to see if I’m still alive.”  
  
Dean smirks at him, his usual walls all back in place, and Sam wants to punch that look off his face, wants to yell and cry and beg Dean not to be like this. Instead he forces himself to get up and grab his clothes and quickly head for the door. From what Dean said, it’s obvious that Sam isn’t welcome to spend the night.   
  
He stops at the door and glances back at his brother, for a split second unable to place the expression on Dean’s face before he schools his features again. “G’night, Dean,” he whispers, throat tight. “See ya in the mornin’.”  
  
“Hopefully so,” Dean replies with another smirk. Sam turns and all but runs from the room, almost able to convince himself that he hears his brother whisper, “Night, baby boy,” but he’s sure that’s just wishful thinking.  
______  
  
Dean doesn’t sleep.   
  
He’s not worried about the effects of the curse or the time ticking down. He knows damn-well that they broke it. As soon as he’d pushed into his little brother’s body he  _felt_ the curse lift.  
  
He feels more cold and alone than he’s ever felt, his heart aching, his mind a mess of tangled thoughts and feelings. He shouldn’t have pushed Sam away, he should have pulled his brother into his arms and kept him close. Hell, if he wants to be honest, he never should’ve fucked him in the first place, no matter what Sam said, no matter that his  selfless sacrifice saved Dean’s worthless life.   
  
He sure as shit shouldn’t be thinking of doing it again. Every fucking day for the rest of their lives.   
  
He shouldn’t be thinking that it was the best fucking sex of his life and that it felt more right than anything ever had before.   
  
Dean huffs a sigh and finds himself brushing his fingers over his own shoulder, over the still slightly tender flesh that Sam had bitten. He closes his eyes and traces the marks of his brother’s teeth, full-color snapshots of them together flashing through his mind. His whole body flushes hot and his cock twitches weakly and he can’t help but groan. He knows damn-well if he hadn’t come so fucking hard and hadn’t spent the last few days suffering from the curse, his cock would be hard as steel just thinking about it, just remembering how it felt to be with Sam.   
  
He wonders if Sam is asleep. He barely fights the urge to get up and sneak into his brother’s room, crawl into his bed and pull Sam into his arms.   
  
Fuck. He needs a Goddamn drink.   
  
He pushes himself out of bed and groans when his whole body protests. Grabbing a pair of sweats, he slips them on before heading out of his room. He glances down the hallway toward Sam’s room but forces himself to keep moving.   
  
He stumbles to a stop just inside the library, blinking owlishly. Sam is sitting at one of the tables, his back to Dean, his broad shoulders tense, head hanging slightly. Dean can’t see his face but he knows that Sam’s hair is hanging in his eyes and his fingers flex, tightening into a fist, fingernails biting into his palm. He wants to push the silky-soft mess away and see those hazel depths.   
  
Dean tilts his head to the side, watching his brother silently, intently. Sam doesn’t move, doesn’t give any indication that he realizes that he’s no longer alone and Dean can’t help but wonder what his brother is thinking about. He must be really lost in his own head for all his instincts to fail like that. Aside from the sixth sense that comes with being a hunter, Sam and Dean have always had a sixth sense about each other.   
  
Dean is damn tempted to turn around and sneak back out of the room and leave his brother to his thoughts. But if he wants things to be okay between them he needs to act as normal as possible.   
  
Pasting on a smile, Dean saunters the rest of the way into the library and follows through with his initial reason for being there. He pours himself a drink and crosses the room, flopping down into a chair across the table from Sam. His brother jerks and his eyes snap up to Dean’s then fall away almost instantly, focusing instead on Dean’s drink, his brow furrowed. Dean may be feeling more than a little off-kilter but he’s pretty sure the look on Sam’s face is disappointment.   
  
Dean takes a long drink, knocking back more than half, hissing slightly at the burn of good whiskey, then sets the glass down and leans back in his seat. Sam looks a little exhausted, his eyes red-rimmed and a little glassy, but there are several books spread out in front of him.  
  
It’s only been a little over an hour since they were together. Dean hasn’t showered and he’s pretty sure Sam didn’t either. He can still smell sweat and sex.   
  
Sam has a yellow legal pad in front of him, filled with his tight, sloppy writing. “What’cha researchin’, little brother?” Dean asks. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It sounds strained and overly forced-casual.   
  
“Just, uh,” Sam’s voice is soft and he sounds so freaking young. He won’t look at Dean. “Just looking through everything again. Making sure I didn’t miss anything.”  
  
There isn’t any doubt about what Sam means. Dean wants to tell him that it’s not really necessary, that the curse is definitely broken, but he knows Sam. His brother won’t be satisfied until  _he_ knows for a fact that it’s really over.   
  
Dean nods and licks his lips, twisting the glass around in his fingers. The fingers that he’d had inside his brother not all that long ago. Heat flushes Dean’s cheeks, down to his chest… his bare chest. He closes his eyes, just now realizing that he’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung, wash-worn sweats. He can feel his body starting to react to the memory and there’s no way Sam won’t notice if Dean pops a freaking boner right now. And the poor kid will probably think that it didn’t work, that he sacrificed himself for nothing.  
  
Dean reopens his eyes, surprised to find Sam looking at him. His brother’s cheeks flush and he quickly drops his eyes and Dean’s stomach twists, his heart slamming against his ribcage. He can’t even stand to look at Dean.   
  
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean hears himself blurt out. He cringes when Sam’s gaze snaps back to him and the look in those hazel puppy eyes makes Dean wish Sam would’ve kept  _not_ looking at him. Sam leans forward, flinches and shifts his hips, then carefully sits back. Another spike of guilt tears through Dean. Sam’s obviously sore. All because of him.   
  
Anger flashes through Sam’s eyes and his jaw clenches, hands curling into fists on the table. “Fuck you, Dean,” he half-growls, tone low and dangerous.  
  
“Sam, c’mon,” Dean sighs, shaking his head. “’m tryin’ to apologize here…”  
  
“Did you really not hear a damn thing I said to you?!” Sam snaps, pushing himself up out of his seat. He grimaces slightly with the sudden movement but doesn’t let that stop him from pacing away from Dean. “I don’t want, or need, a Goddamn apology!”  
  
“I just want things to be okay with us,” Dean mutters. “I just want things to go back to normal.”  
  
“Things’ll never go back to normal,” Sam huffs, his back to Dean, his shoulders shifting, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.   
  
“And that’s exactly what I knew would happen,” Dean replies, his eyes squeezing closed for a second. “You can’t even look at me, Sam. Savin’ me has ruined us.”  
  
Sam huffs out a humorless laugh, his whole body slumping. “You really didn’t listen to me,” Sam whispers, his voice breaking, strained.   
  
“I heard you, Sam,” Dean whispers back. “And now I see how you’re reacting. It was the effects of the curse…”  
  
“No it wasn’t!” Sam shouts, turning finally to face Dean again. The pain in his brother’s eyes is enough to break Dean. “The freakin’ curse didn’t make me want you, Dean.”   
  
“Then why’re you acting like this?” Dean asks. “Why can’t you look at me? Why are you angry? Disgusted?”  
  
“I’m angry at myself!” Sam cries out. “I’m disgusted with myself. And I can’t freakin’ look at you because it hurts too damn much!”  
  
“I don’t understand,” Dean frowns, brow furrowed.  
  
Sam shakes his head and looks away, fists clenched white-knuckle tight. Dean swears he can see a slight tremor running through his entire body. “It started out wanting to save you,” he eventually replies quietly. “I can’t lie and say it wasn’t. But it wasn’t…  By the time we started, that wasn’t the reason. Or at least not the whole reason. I told you that I wanted it, wanted  _you_ , and I meant that, Dean. And now that it’s all over, I still feel that way. Even though I know that you don’t, that you never did.  _That’s_ why I’m angry and disgusted with myself. I mean,” Sam shakes his head again, huffing out another one of those humorless laughs. Dean hates that sound. “What the hell is wrong with me? Wanting my own brother? Unable to forget how it felt being with you. The fact that nothing has ever felt so right. I’m fucked up, Dean. A freak,” he sneers, voice cracking, face crumbling. Dean knows damn-well how much Sam hates that word, hates feeling like he is one.  
  
Pushing himself out of his seat, Dean crosses the room and grabs Sam’s shoulders, forcing his brother to look at him. “There’s  _nothing_ wrong with you!” Dean growls.   
  
Sam rolls his eyes and takes a step back, jaw clenching. “Don’t do that,” Sam mutters, almost a whisper. “Please, Dean. Just. Don’t, okay?”  
  
“Don’t what? Be honest?” Dean asks. His heart is pounding against his ribs, Sam’s words still echoing in his head. They don’t make sense, not really, at least not in a way that Dean can wrap his brain around. If Sam’s being honest – and he’s pretty damn sure he is – he doesn’t really know what to do with that. Even if they both feel the same, how can this ever work? Where the hell do they go from here?   
  
Sam huffs a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t wanna fight.”  
  
“We’re not fighting,” Dean counters automatically.  
  
“Fine,” Sam huffs. “I don’t wanna argue or discuss or  _whatever_ .”  
  
“Okay” Dean agrees slowly, carefully, frowning slightly. “I don’t either.”  
  
“Good,” Sam nods, flashing him an obviously forced smile. “I’m just gonna,” he trails off, one hand waving absently at the table. “You should get some rest, been a rough couple’a days.”  
  
Dean knows a dismissal when he hears one. He also knows his brother enough to know that Sam will sit in here the rest of the night, stressing and worrying. And he especially knows that they didn’t manage to fix a damn thing between them.   
  
The thought of there being one more fucking  _thing_ between them, one more wedge between their bond, one more thing to try and tear them apart makes Dean’s stomach turn. He can’t risk that. Things are still strained between them – even before all this curse crap – but they’ve both been trying so hard to get things back to normal, back to how they used to be, that Dean can’t stand the idea of yet another thing that will inevitably come back to bite them in the ass.   
  
Inhaling deeply, Dean gathers as much strength and courage as he can and closes the distance between himself and Sam, wrapping his arms around his brother and pulling him against his chest, one hand on the back of Sam’s head, fingers just barely buried in the messy waves of his hair. Sam inhales sharply, his entire body tense, arms hanging limply at his sides. Dean closes his eyes and turns his head, barely brushing his lips against the hinge of Sam’s jaw. He still doesn’t know where the hell they go from here, how this can possibly have  _any_ hope of working out, but he’s sure as hell not about to let this – something they both obviously want – be the thing that finally succeeds in tearing them apart completely.   
______  
  
Sam squeezes his eyes closed, his heart hammering in his chest, every muscle locked up tight. He’s afraid to move, to even  _breathe_ , terrified that somehow he’ll lose Dean the rest of the way. At first he thinks that he imagines the light brush of Dean’s lips against his jaw, but then he feels the moist warmth of Dean’s breath and the barely-there scrape of his teeth, Dean’s nose nuzzling against his cheek.   
  
“Sammy,” Dean murmurs, one hand pressing against the small of his back, other hand tangling deeper in his hair.   
  
He wants to give in, wants so Goddamn badly to melt against his brother’s chest, turn his head and slide their lips together. But he knows that he can’t. It wouldn’t be real. He knows Dean, even though they haven’t been as close the past few years, and he knows that his brother will do whatever it takes to make Sam happy, will give whatever he can, whatever he has, if Sam wants it. Dean’s always been that way and Sam both loves and hates it. For a lot of his life, Sam took advantage of that, of  _Dean_ , but there’s no way he’s going to this time. Dean will end up resenting him, hating him even, and Sam just can’t take anymore distance and anger between them.  
  
“Dean, please,” Sam whispers. “Don’t.”  
  
“’s okay, little brother,” Dean replies softly, still nuzzling his freaking face. God, but Dean’s fucking  _killing_ him. “Promise, it’s okay. ‘m right here.”  
  
Dean’s lips brush against his cheek, slide down to the side of his lips and Sam almost gives in.  _This_ . Fuck, he wants this so freaking much. Wants Dean to hold him and kiss him.  _Love_ him.  
  
It smacks Sam right in the face, his stomach twisting painfully. He loves Dean, always has , but he can now see that he’s  _in love_ with Dean. Somewhere along the way, their bond as brothers twisted and  warped and Sam went and fell in love. It was so gradual, felt so natural and normal, that he didn’t even realize it, doesn’t even really know when the hell it happened, honestly. He knows damn-well that their relationship has never been that of normal siblings – he’s never known anyone that’s as close to their brother as they are – and they have some serious codependency issues going on, but he always thought that was just the way they were, a by-product of the way they were raised.   
  
  
But looking back now, now that he  _knows_ , it changes everything, their entire history. And Sam’s not really sure how he feels about that.   
  
Either way, it’s his burden and he won’t put it on Dean. His sudden realization is just even more reason to not let Dean martyr himself like usual.  
  
Sam tries to pull away but Dean tightens his arms, keeping Sam pressed close against his chest. Sam’s resolve is starting to wane more and more. He needs Dean to stop this,  _now_ , needs his brother to pull away because honestly Sam isn’t sure that he’s strong enough to do it.   
  
“You don’t have to do this,” Sam mutters.  
  
“I know,” Dean replies easily, still not letting go, lips still lightly brushing against Sam’s cheek, his jaw.  
  
“Then why are you?” Sam asks quietly.  
  
Dean inhales deeply, tilts his head so that his face is pressed against Sam’s neck, nuzzling at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, then exhales slowly. Sam barely stops a shudder from running down his spine. “Ever think I might wanna?” Dean whispers against his ear.  
  
Actually, no, Sam hadn’t considered that. And he’s pretty damn sure that it isn’t that freaking simple.  
  
“Since when?” Sam hears himself ask, finally able to at least pull his head back enough to look at Dean, brow furrowed. For as long as Sam can remember, even when things have been at their worst between them, he’s always been able to read his brother. But right now, he doesn’t recognize or even understand the look in Dean’s eyes. And it kind of scares the hell out of him.   
  
Dean licks his lips and flashes him a small but genuine smile. “Honestly?” he asks softly, waiting for Sam to nod, “I don’t know. Maybe always.” Sam opens his mouth to question or argue or  _something_ but Dean shakes his head slightly, fingers just barely tightening in Sam’s hair. “I know what you’re gonna say,” Dean says before Sam can get any words out. He kind of doubts that Dean knows what he’s going to say considering that Sam doesn’t even really know hims elf. “It’s not because of the curse or because of what you said. Not really.” He pauses, huffing out a sigh, cringing a little and looking more than a bit uncomfortable. Sam knows how much Dean hates talking about his feelings, or really feelings in general, so he appreciates the attempt, however awkward. “I don’t know, Sammy,” he repeats softly. “I mean, this is wrong, we’re brothers for fuck’s sake…” Sam’s heart slams against his ribs painfully and the urge to pull away is even stronger. “But I don’t… Okay, I can’t say that I don’t care, because I do. But. Damnit,” he growls, cutting himself off, reaching up with the hand not still buried in Sam’s hair and cups his cheek, crushing their lips together.  
  
Sam freezes for a split second, eyes wide, chest already heaving. Then Dean nibbles at his bottom lip before nudging at his lips with the tip of his tongue, silently urging Sam to open for him. Sam melts against his brother’s chest, eyes fluttering closed as he gives in, the kiss naturally deepening. Dean groans and pushes impossibly closer, the hand on Sam’s cheek tilting his head just slightly to get a better angle. Sam wraps his arms around Dean, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his brother’s bare back, a low moan rumbling in his chest before he can stop it.   
  
He doesn’t know how long the kiss lasts, completely losing all concept of time, unable to focus on anything aside from the feeling of Dean pressed against him, their lips and tongues sliding together, slow and deep and somehow even more intense than the kisses they shared before. It still feels too soon though when Dean pulls away, lips spit-slick and kiss-bruised, eyes dark, cheeks flushed a soft petal-pink. Sam blinks owlishly, a million thoughts and questions swirling in his brain but unable to get a single word out of his mouth.   
  
“I don’t know where we go from here,” Dean murmurs, tone deep, a little raspy and a lot sexy. “I don’t know how we’re gonna make this work. But I  _wanna_ , Sammy. Me and you, okay? Come whatever.”  
  
Sam swallows thickly around the sudden lump in his throat at hearing Dean repeat what he said earlier. He remembers all the times that they’ve promised each other that in the past – either out-loud or implied – and how every time they somehow fucked it up. He doesn’t want that to happen again. He’s just now getting his brother back it feels like – even though they still have to deal with the damn Mark of Cain and the way it’s affecting Dean – and it seems like Dean’s on the same page about the sudden non-brotherly feelings as well, and Sam doesn’t want to lose any of it, doesn’t want to lose  _Dean_ .   
  
Sam smiles, feeling his dimples dig into his cheeks, and nods. “You and me,” he echoes, leaning his head forward enough to press his forehead to Dean’s.   
  
Dean hums softly and slides one hand down Sam’s spine, pressing against the small of his back, other hand still tangled in his hair – when this is all over and they’ve worked things out, Sam is definitely going to give his brother shit over the apparent obsession he has with Sam’s hair, especially considering how often Dean bitches at him to cut it. Dean smiles back at him and tilts his head enough to brush a quick, chaste kiss to his lips.  
  
“Why don’t we both go get some rest?” Dean asks softly. “Know you haven’t slept worth shit the last couple’a days either.”  
  
Sam frowns slightly and pulls his head back enough to look Dean in the eyes. “I just,” he sighs, shoulders slumping a bit. “I wanna look through everything again,” he eventually admits quietly. “Wanna be completely sure I didn’t miss anything.”  
  
“You didn’t, Sammy,” Dean assures him, his eyes and smile fond.   
  
“We don’t know for sure,” Sam argues. “And I just… I gotta make sure, Dean.” He can’t lose Dean, no matter what does or doesn’t happen between them. He thought that he’d made that clear to his brother.  
  
Dean licks his lips, fingers gently scraping over his scalp. Sam feels himself melt a little, his body relaxing. He remembers when he was little and would crawl into Dean’s bed after a nightmare or when the shadows in the too dark room scared him and Dean would pull him against his side and rub his head, just like he’s doing now, instantly calming him down. “You’ve read and reread all that crap enough to probably have it memorized by now,” Dean murmurs. He’s not wrong. Sam isn’t going to admit that though. “And I’ve never doubted your research skills, kiddo.” He pushes just a little closer to Sam, their chests pressed together completely. “You don’t have to worry ‘bout it anymore, okay? It’s all good.”  
  
“But if it didn’t work…”  
  
“It did,” Dean cuts him off gently.   
  
“What?” Sam asks softly.  
  
“I, uh. It worked,” Dean replies.   
  
“How d’you know?” Sam frowns.  
  
Dean huffs and lets go of his hair to rub that hand over the back of his own neck. Sam barely resists pouting. He can’t help it. He’s always loved having his hair played with. “When we…” he flails one hand toward the hallway leading back toward the bedrooms, cheeks flushing slightly. “I, um. I don’t know. I kinda felt the curse break, I guess.”  
  
“Felt it?” Sam repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”  
  
“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean sighs, rubbing his hand down his face before wrapping his arm around Sam again. This is kind of dangerous. He could really get used to all the touching and he’s pretty sure that it won’t last. Dean isn’t exactly a very demonstrative person like he used to be when he was younger. “I just know that when we were together, when I finally pushed inside you,” Dean’s voice drops slightly and Sam can feel a fresh pulse of arousal curl in his stomach, “it just… I couldn’t feel it anymore. And I don’t feel it now.” He smiles a little and squeezes his arms around Sam. “So we’re good, little brother. You don’t need to spend the rest of the night drivin’ yourself crazy goin’ through all that shit again.”  
  
Sam feels something loosen inside his chest, left-over fear and worry draining away. “That’s great,” he breathes, leaning forward, bending down enough to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. “That’s really fuckin’ great.”  
  
Dean chuckles softly and turns his head enough to press a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “So, c’mon. Let’s get some damn sleep.”  
______  
  
Dean gently pulls away from Sam and heads toward the hallway leading to their rooms. He doesn’t look back, knows instinctively that Sam is right behind him. He does pause and turn around when they get to the door to Sam’s room. Sam has stopped as well, the most heartbreaking look in his eyes as he glances at Dean through his lashes. Dean flashes him a lopsided smile and shakes his head fondly, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, tugging a bit to get Sam moving again, pulling him the rest of the way down the hall to his own room.   
  
When they’re both in his room and Dean turns to look at Sam again he can see the obvious relief and gratitude in Sam’s eyes. It aches, knowing that he hurt Sam when he all but shoved him out the door before, that Sam thought that Dean wouldn’t want him in here with him now. They’ve hurt each other so much over the last few years, the last thing he wants to do is hurt Sam even more.   
  
Dean smiles and closes the distance between them, hands curling around Sam’s lean hips. Sam looks up at him through his lashes, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip. He looks so heartbreakingly young, younger than he’s looked in longer than Dean wants to think about, and something warm unfurls in Dean’s stomach, his chest. Big brother protectiveness and want war within him and Dean doesn’t understand how he can want to shield him from everything yet ravish him at the same time. And maybe that’s always been the Goddamn problem, his overwhelming  _need_ for Sam contrasting with what he knows he should do.  
  
He  _should_ walk away. But he just  _can’t_ . Not anymore.  He knows that what they’re doing, what they feel for each other isn’t right but it’s right  _for them_ . He isn’t really sure when it happened, maybe it was always there and they just didn’t notice, these feeings buried underneath everything else they are to each other. In a way it feels so sudden but then again it really doesn’t feel sudden at all, almost feels like this is where they’ve been heading all along.    
  
Sam’s trembling beneath his hands, nearly vibrating, and it speaks to the possessive side of Dean, the side that has always wanted Sam to need him as much as he needs Sam. Dean reaches up and palms Sam’s cheek, uses his thumb to pull Sam’s lip free before he chews the damn thing bloody. Sam lets out a soft, breathy little sigh and leans just barely into Dean’s touch, his eyes fluttering closed. He looks so content, at peace for the first time in years, and Dean feels a matching kind of peace flow over him.  _He_ did that. All he’s ever wanted, aside from keeping Sam safe, is to make him happy. He still can’t quite believe it’s  _him_ that makes Sam happy.  
  
He leans up and tips Sam’s head down toward him, brushes a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. Sam melts into it, into him, his arms slowly sliding around Dean. Sam makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat and Dean steps into him, their chests pressing together, the kiss naturally deepening. The hand he has on Sam’s cheek slides back into his hair, fisting the silky-soft, messy strands – he’s developing a pretty unhealthy obsession with Sam’s hair all of a sudden but he can’t really bring himself to care. He tightens his fingers just slightly, tugging a bit, and Sam moans, short nails dragging down Dean’s back.   
  
Without breaking the kiss, Dean urges Sam back toward the bed, still messy and smelling like sweat and sex, gently pushing him back onto the mattress. Sam doesn’t let go, pulling Dean down with him, spreading his legs so Dean can settle between them. Sam’s already half-hard, cock pressing against the back of his zipper, and Dean’s no better off, the thin sweats he pulled on earlier not doing a thing to hide it. Sam wraps his long legs around Dean’s hips, rocking up against him, groaning when their cocks rub together, the kiss turning wet and messy, bordering on desperate.   
  
Dean pulls away after several more long minutes, both of them panting, their chests heaving. Sam makes a soft, unhappy noise, practically pouting up at him as he lifts up, trying to chase after Dean. Dean flashes him a smirk and dips down, brushing a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. “Easy, Sammy,” he murmurs.  
  
Sam huffs but settles back down, head on Dean’s pillow, staring up at him expectantly. Dean pulls away, sitting back on his heels, hands shoving up under the hem of Sam’s t-shirt. He spreads his fingers wide over Sam’s abs then slides them up, tracing the lines of his brother’s muscles and his warm, baby-soft skin. Sam wiggles and squirms beneath him – kid has always had a problem just sitting still – bottom lip once again trapped between his teeth. Dean takes his time, slowly pushing Sam’s shirt up as he goes. Sam sits up enough to let him pull it off, shaking his hair out of his eyes when Dean pulls it off his head and tosses it over his shoulder.   
  
Hands on Sam’s hips, keeping him still and pressed against the mattress, Dean dips down and scraps his teeth over the sharp jut of Sam’s hipbone just barely peaking out over the waist of his jeans. Sam gasps, back arching slightly, his dark, lust-blown eyes locked on Dean. Licking his lips, Dean does it again, a little harder, biting and sucking a bruise into the soft, sweat-salty skin stretched taut over the bone. Sam moans this time, hands curling into fists in the sheets, his stomach muscles quivering as he tries to buck his hips up.   
  
“Dean,” Sam whispers, eyes wide and imploring when Dean glances up the long line of his body.  
  
Dean kisses across the waistband of Sam’s jeans then works his way up Sam’s abs and chest, pausing to tease both nipples, licking and sucking until they’re pulled into tight peaks. Sam grabs the back of his neck with one hand, groaning and arching his chest into Dean’s mouth, and Dean can feel the long, hard line of Sam’s cock tenting his jeans and pressing into Dean’s stomach. His brother is fully hard and Dean can’t stop himself from pressing down against him, smirking to himself when Sam’s fingers tighten against his neck and his hips jerk.   
  
“Dean, c’mon,” Sam urges, soft and breathless.   
  
Taking a bit of pity on his brother, Dean lets go of his nipple and moves on, biting Sam’s collarbone then nipping up the long line of Sam’s neck, over his chin to his lips. Sam doesn’t even hesitate, pulls him into another wet, messy kiss, their tongues tangling together as Dean settles between his legs again. Their bodies are pressed together from their chests down and Dean can’t stop himself from rolling his hips, grinding down against Sam, the rough friction enough to rip a harsh moan from Dean’s throat.   
  
Sam pulls away from the kiss first this time, both hands gripping Dean’s face. “Dean, please,” he pleads quietly, eyes so dark, full of love and need. Dean will give him whatever he wants, all he has to do is tell Dean what it is.   
  
“What, baby?” Dean asks softly, unable to stop the subtle grind of his hips.  
  
“Fuck me,” Sam blurts out.  
  
“Sam,” Dean frowns, shaking his head slightly. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. Hell yeah he does. But he saw Sam flinch earlier, saw how uncomfortable he obviously was, probably still is.  
  
“’m okay,” Sam assures, flashing him a small smile. “Wanna… wanna feel you again. Please, Dean?”  
  
Dean dips down and brushes a kiss to Sam’s lips, pulling back before either of them can be tempted to deepen it. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” he whispers against the corner of Sam’s lips, forehead resting against Sam’s.   
  
“’m okay,” Sam repeats. He slides one hand down Dean’s side, fingers tucking beneath the waist of his sweats, tips brushing against his hipbone. Dean didn’t bother to put on underwear when he got up before, not thinking that he’d run into Sam, and the light brush of Sam’s long, warm fingers against his bare skin is like a jolt of electricity down his spine.   
  
“Fuck, Sam,” Dean growls, pulling away again, hastily pushing down his sweats. Sam reaches down before Dean’s even got them over the curve of his ass, one huge hand curling around Dean’s cock, thumb rubbing over the tip, smearing through the mess of pre-come already leaking from the slit. Dean’s jaw clenches and his hips thrust forward, a low moan rumbling in his chest as Sam does it again. He somehow manages to actually get his sweats all the way off, wiggling and kicking until they fall off the end of the bed. He bats Sam’s hand away and reaches for his jeans, hands shaking as he quickly opens Sam’s belt, nearly rips off the button and destroys the zipper. “Off,” he mutters, tugging on the open flaps. Sam chuckles breathlessly but lifts his hips obediently, letting Dean pull both his jeans and boxer briefs down and off at the same time.   
  
Once they’re both naked Sam pulls him right back down against his chest, legs once again wrapping around Dean’s hips. He shifts just a bit and their bare cocks press together, the drag of friction eased by how much they’re both already leaking. Sam slides his arms around Dean’s shoulders, clinging to him, clawing at his back, as Dean rolls his hips. Dean reaches down and grabs Sam’s thigh, pulling him even closer and Sam mewls, wiggling and tilting his hips up. Dean smirks and slides his hand up, palming Sam’s ass, fingers digging into the muscular globes.   
______  
  
Dean slides his hand over a bit further, tips of his fingers just barely brushing the cleft of Sam’s ass. Sam wiggles again, trying to get his brother to get on with it already, but Dean tilts his head to the side, his eyes widening, darkening impossibly more. “Sammy,” he rasps, finally swirling the tips of his fingers around Sam’s rim. The light touch is more maddeningly teasing than anything else though and Sam tilts his hips down, hoping to get more. But Dean just keeps rubbing around his rim, barely any pressure at all. “Fuck, baby,” his brother continues, his voice low and rough, almost strangled. “Still all wet, even a little open.”  
  
Sam can feel his cheeks flush for some reason, his eyes dropping to his brother’s chest. “Dean,” he huffs, wiggling uncomfortably this time.  
  
Dean dips his head and buries his face in Sam’s neck, mouthing wetly at his thundering pulse. “Fuck, that’s so hot, baby boy,” he murmurs, biting and sucking at the crook of Sam’s neck.   
  
Sam blinks slowly, his brief embarrassment fading quickly, the pleasure of Dean’s lips, tongue and teeth sending a fresh wave of arousal down his spine. His fingers dig into Dean’s back, his head pressing back into the pillow, arching his neck. Dean takes the unspoken hint and bites down harder, nipping his way back up to the hinge of Sam’s jaw.  
  
“Dean, please,” Sam moans softly.  
  
To his disappointment, Dean pulls away from his neck. Sam barely bites back a growl. Or a whine. He’s not sure at this point. But then Dean moves down his chest, once again stopping to tease at his nipples. He licks and nips at the hardened nubs and Sam arches into the feeling, his cock twitching almost painfully, fresh pre-come dribbling down his shaft. Dean eventually moves on, dragging his tongue and lips down further, tracing his quivering abs. He bites another bruise into the thin skin covering his hipbone and Sam’s seriously convinced that if Dean doesn’t hurry up and  _do something_ , he’s either going to come without a hand on him or punch his brother in his stupidly beautiful face. Either are really a possibility at this point.   
  
Dean turns his head and nuzzles against the heavy swell of Sam’s balls. Sam groans and spreads his legs wider, hips tilting up, his hands falling away from his brother’s shoulders, his fingers curling into fists in the messy sheets. Dean hums softly in the back of his throat and opens his lips, mouthing at Sam’s sac, sucking first one ball then the other into his mouth.  
  
“Dean,” Sam cries out, his eyes squeezing closed, his entire body jerking like he’s touched a live-wire.   
  
Dean sucks harder, tonguing the seam of Sam’s sac, then pulls away, licking a thick, wet stripe up the underside of Sam’s cock. Sam’s eyes snap open and he looks down the length of his own body, blinking owlishly at his brother. Sam’s legs are spread wide around Dean’s broad shoulders and he stares right back at Sam, green eyes dark and heavy-lidded, as he licks Sam’s cock again, swirling his tongue around the leaking tip. Sam can honestly say that the last damn thing he expected was his brother’s tongue or mouth anywhere near his dick.   
  
Dean pulls back just slightly and licks his lips, still making sure to keep the eye-contact, as he slides the tip of Sam’s cock into his mouth. Sam’s jaw clenches and his fingers curl tighter in the sheets, his hips trembling with the urge to thrust up, to bury himself in the wet, exquisite heat of Dean’s perfect mouth. Dean curls one hand around the base as he bobs his head, his other hand slipping between Sam’s legs, two thick fingers teasing around his entrance. The touch is more insistent this time and it doesn’t take long for Dean to press forward, both fingers pushing inside.  
  
“Oh fuck,” Sam gasps, his cock twitching against Dean’s tongue. There’s a slight burn, a bit of an ache, but the pleasure of Dean’s mouth around him and the tip of his fingers brushing against his prostate mostly drowns everything else out.   
  
Dean doesn’t take him in far and it’s messy and not the most skilled blow job Sam’s ever received but it’s  _Dean_ and that’s all that matters, making it the best he’s ever had, by far. He can feel himself rushing toward the edge, hard and fast, and while Sam really,  _really_ wants to come, he wants Dean inside him again when he does.   
  
Forcing himself to let go of the sheets with one hand, Sam pushes against Dean’s shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle. “Gotta stop,” Sam rasps. “Too close, Dean.”  
  
Dean pulls away from Sam’s cock but instead of moving back up his body like Sam expects, Dean dips down, licking at the thin, sensitive skin of his perineum. Sam mewls and forces his legs open even more, his thigh muscles burning and shaking, hips lifting up off the mattress. Dean hums and slips his tongue down further, tip teasing around the two fingers he still has buried inside Sam.  
  
“Jesus  _fuck_ ,” Sam nearly screams. He never, in a million years, would have thought that this would feel so good. Nor would he think that Dean would do it. It’s filthy-dirty in the best way possible and Sam’s cock hardens impossibly more.  
  
He whines when Dean pulls away suddenly, can’t be bothered to try and stop the sound from escaping. Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and palms Sam’s hip, cheeks and chest flushed, his lips red and swollen. “Flip over for me, baby,” Dean murmurs, tone low and deep and Sam trembles a little at the sound of it.  
  
He doesn’t really want to face away from Dean – as girly as it sounds and despite how much he  _knows_ Dean would give him shit for it, he wants to see his brother’s face when he’s inside him – but he does as Dean asks, scrambling over onto his hands and knees, ass up in the air, too turned on to be even remotely embarrassed about acting no better than one of Dean’s cheap bar sluts.   
  
Dean kisses the small of his back, both hands rubbing over his hips before grabbing his ass, pulling him open. Sam turns his head to look back over his shoulder, about to complain or beg, when Dean dips down, licking all the way from the back of Sam’s balls up the cleft. Sam turns back around and drops his head between his shoulders, fingers curling into the sheets, a loud, throaty moan rumbling in his chest when Dean does it again, slower this time, tongue dragging directly over his hole. Dean pushes in deeper, tongue swirling around his rim, pushing inside, two fingers slipping in as well. Sam’s knees slide open wider, his back arching, tilting his ass higher in the air.  
  
Dean moans behind him, his tongue pushing in deeper, his fingers rubbing incessantly over Sam’s sweet spot. The sound vibrates up Sam’s spine and he can’t stop himself from pushing back, trying to get more, deeper, something. Dean doesn’t stop, keeps laving his tongue around his entrance and thrusting his fingers in, hard and deep, twisting his wrist. Sam’s cock is so hard, pressing up against his abs, leaking like a busted pipe, and he just wants Dean inside him,  _now_ .   
  
“Oh God, Dean,” Sam breathes, whimpering. “Please. I can’t… Need to come.”  
  
Dean pulls his tongue away and licks up Sam’s spine, bites the back of his neck. “Do it, baby boy,” he rasps against Sam’s ear, teeth scraping over the lobe.  
  
Sam turns his head and slams their lips together, instantly deepening the kiss, not caring in the slightest where Dean’s mouth just was. The taste on Dean’s tongue is slightly bitter and salty – Sam’s cock twitches again when he realizes that he’s tasting the remnants of Dean’s earlier release – and a little musky and under that the slightly chemical tang of what can only be from the lube. Dean groans and pushes closer, his chest pressed completely against Sam’s back, the kiss turning wet and messy. His fingers quirk and press against Sam’s prostate again and Sam pulls away with a gasp.  
  
“Wanna come while you’re inside me,” Sam whispers against Dean’s lips, nipping at the bottom one, “while you’re fuckin’ me again.”  
  
Dean moans softly and crushes their lips together again in another fast, nearly desperate kiss. “Can you reach the lube?” he asks, smearing the words into the kiss.  
  
Sam shifts his weight and flails one long arm out and grabs it off the bedside table where Dean left it earlier and reaches back, nearly shoving it into his brother’s hand. “Please, Dean,” he begs. “C’mon.”  
  
“Easy, little brother,” Dean soothes, kissing his cheek, his temple. “I got’cha.”  
  
Sam’s whole body jerks, white-hot pleasure burning through him, his groin tightening almost painfully.  _Little brother_ . He’s not sure if Dean meant to say it, or even realizes that he did, but he’s pretty damn sure that it shouldn’t be nearly as freaking hot as it is. Dean’s called him that a thousand times before, throughout their entire lives, and just like baby boy, he’s sure that it shouldn’t turn him on, that the reminder that this is his brother, shouldn’t make this even hotter than it already is.   
  
“ _Dean_ ,” he whimpers, damn-near a sob, trembling with need and emotion.  
  
Dean kisses the corner of his lips and pulls back. Sam looks over his shoulder, sees his brother sitting back on his heels, watches as he flips open the lube and pours some directly down the cleft of Sam’s ass. He twitches at the chilly sensation, flashing his brother a relatively mild bitch-face when Dean chuckles and winks at him. But any annoyance, however mild, is gone immediately when Dean carefully slips a third finger into him. He groans and pushes back, his stomach swooping when he feels the burn and the stretch that he realized last time that he actually really enjoys.  
  
Dean works him open, careful but fast, clean hand rubbing his thigh and hip, intense gaze locked on the sight of his own fingers disappearing inside Sam. He glances up when Sam gasps at a particularly deep thrust, concern quickly edging out the heat in those stormy-green depths.  
  
“You sure ‘bout this, Sammy?” he asks softly.  
  
“Yes,” Sam hisses, twisting his hips and pushing back against Dean’s hand.  
  
Dean frowns slightly, head tilted to the side. “You sure you aren’t too sore?” he asks carefully.  
  
“’m fine,” Sam assures him.  
  
Dean quirks an eyebrow and stills his fingers, still buried deep inside. “I saw you flinch in the library, Sam.”  
  
Sam huffs and – even though he really doesn’t want to – pulls himself away, nose wrinkling when Dean’s fingers slip out of him, leaving behind an empty feeling that he really doesn’t like. He turns around and kneels in front of Dean, grabbing both sides of his face, making sure to look into Dean’s eyes. “Okay, yes, ‘m a little sore,” Sam admits softly, leaning forward to brush a kiss to Dean’s lips. “But I… It’s not bad, Dean, really. And I kinda… I like it,” he whispers.  
  
Dean scoots forward on his knees, one arm wrapping around Sam’s waist, his hand sliding down over the curve of his ass. He drops his other hand down and teases his still lube-slick hand over the heavy swell of Sam’s balls then loosely curls around his cock, thumb teasing over his leaking cock-head. “Yeah?” he asks quietly.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam nods, smiling at his brother as he drops his own hand down and curls his fingers around Dean’s cock in return. Dean groans, his hips jerking forward, the hand on Sam’s ass tightening. “So, c’mon. Want you, Dean,” he murmurs, kissing the side of his brother’s lips.   
  
Dean turns his head enough to catch Sam’s lips fully, kissing him slow and deep and perfect.  
______  
  
Sam pulls back from the kiss, looking up at Dean through his lashes expectantly, a heady combination of needy little brother and impatient lover. Dean feels a shiver of arousal run down his spine, his cock twitching eagerly in Sam’s loose hold. He tightens his fingers around Sam’s stiff length in response, his other hand using the hold on Sam’s ass to pull him closer. They end up kneeling together in the middle of his bed, chests pressed together, Sam’s huge hand wrapped around both their cocks, his thumb swirling around the tips, smearing their combined pre-come down their shafts. Dean groans and grabs a fistful of Sam’s hair, pulling him into another kiss. He’s already dangerously addicted to Sam’s kisses, his brother’s taste and the sweet little sounds that he makes, the way he just melts into Dean’s chest.  
  
Sam breaks the kiss again, his forehead pressed against Dean’s, his eyes still closed, lips parted as he pants harshly. He twists his wrist and bucks his hips forward, his cock rubbing perfectly against Dean’s. “Sammy,” Dean rasps, tightening his fingers in the mess of his brother’s sweat-damp hair, tugging just enough to hear Sam moan softly. “You want more you gotta stop that, baby boy,” he warns hoarsely.  
  
Sam pulls his head back and lets go of both their cocks, hands curling around Dean’s hips instead. He flashes Dean a sweet smile, his hazel eyes glittering, and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen his brother look so beautiful. He rolls his eyes to himself. Sam’s quickly turning him into a sappy son of a bitch.  
  
“I uh,” Sam starts, his eyes dropping to Dean’s chest, his cheeks flushing a darker shade of pink. Dean quirks an eyebrow, wondering what could possibly be embarrassing his brother, especially considering the things they’ve already done.   
  
“What, Sammy?” Dean urges softly when Sam doesn’t immediately continue.  
  
“Wanna try something,” Sam mutters, glancing at Dean through his lashes. “Can I?”  
  
Dean has always had difficulty denying Sam anything and he’s pretty sure now that they’re sleeping together that will just get worse. “’course, Sam,” Dean replies easily, not even really having to think about it.  
  
Sam flashes him a grateful smile then, using the hold he still has on Dean’s hips, he guides him to turn around, leaving him sitting up against the headboard. Dean tilts his head to the side, watching as Sam grabs the lube and pours some into his palm, tossing it onto the mattress before curling his fingers around Dean’s cock, stroking him, slow and teasing, while slicking him up. Dean bites the inside of his cheek and clenches his fingers into the sheets beneath him, barely fighting the urge to reach for his brother or buck up into the too-loose touch.  
  
Sam lets go and wipes his hand off on the sheet before throwing one long leg over Dean’s thighs, settling down in his lap. Dean’s eyes widen and he automatically grabs Sam’s hips, looking up at his brother, lips parted slightly. Sam bites down on his bottom lip and reaches back, holding onto the base of Dean’s cock as he lifts up, teasing the tip around his lube-slick, loosened hole.   
  
“Holy fuck,” Dean breathes, unable to decide between watching Sam’s face or looking down between their bodies. His gaze keeps bouncing between both, biting off a curse when Sam slowly lowers himself, his head hanging forward as he sinks down onto Dean’s cock, not stopping until Dean’s buried to the hilt. He’s always been a big fan of this position and now is no exception. Sam looks like sex and sin above him, skin flushed and sweat-slick, muscles rippling as he moves, his long legs spread wide over Dean’s thighs, balls pulled up tight and close enough to his body to let Dean see his own cock sinking into Sam’s hole. Sam stops moving once he’s flush against Dean’s lap, his chest heaving, head still hanging down, chin nearly touching his chest. Dean reaches up with one hand and pushes the hair back off Sam’s forehead, trailing his fingers down the side of Sam’s face. “You okay, baby?” he whispers.  
  
Sam lifts his head finally, dark eyes locking on Dean’s, lips bitten red and swollen. “’m good,” he rasps. With Dean sitting up the way he is, their chests are nearly pressed together, and he can feel the heat radiating off his brother’s body. Sam wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and leans forward, brushing a kiss to his lips. “Feels so good, Dean,” he breathes, the words smeared into the kiss.   
  
Dean hums in agreement – neither of them are moving yet but just being buried inside Sam’s tight, wet heat is so fucking good – and wraps his arms around Sam’s lean waist, hands sliding down over the curve of his ass. Sam tilts his hips back into the touch, his inner muscles rippling around Dean’s cock and Dean groans, fingers flexing in the meat of Sam’s ass.   
  
“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean murmurs.  
  
Sam nods and straightens up a bit, pushing Dean just that much deeper inside. Sam’s eyes flutter but don’t close, and he licks his lips, his hands bracing on Dean’s shoulders as he slowly, carefully rolls his hips. The tight heat and friction is exquisite and Dean bucks into the next smooth roll, his cock rubbing along Sam’s inner walls. Sam’s lips fall open around a soft moan, his fingers tightening around Dean’s shoulders as he falls into a rhythm, mostly just grinding down, Dean’s dick buried deep inside him.   
  
Dean can’t tear his eyes away from his brother’s face, the slight burrow of his brow, the pleasure in his lust-blown eyes, the flush across his high cheek bones. Just when Dean thinks that he doesn’t think Sam’s ever been more beautiful he just manages to prove himself wrong.   
  
Sam shifts his hips just slightly, thrusting back against Dean a little harder and his eyes widen before slamming closed, a harsh groan rumbling in his chest, his cock twitching against his abs, fresh pre-come pearling at the angry-red tip. Dean holds Sam’s hips steady and picks up his rhythm. Sam claws at his shoulders, pushing back harder and faster, lifting himself up and slamming back down every third or fourth thrust.  
  
“Dean,” Sam groans, leaning forward again, his chest pressed to Dean’s, his cock trapped between their stomachs. He wraps his arms around Dean and holds on tight, his head buried in the crook of Dean’s neck. “ _Dean_ ,” he repeats, soft and breathless.  
  
Dean turns his head and nuzzles the side of Sam’s face, kissing whatever he can reach. “’m right here, baby,” Dean soothes, rubbing his hands up and down Sam’s trembling back. “It’s okay, Sammy.”  
  
Sam twists his hips and pushes down hard, huffing out a frustrated noise. “Need more,” he whimpers. “Please, Dean.”  
  
Dean slides his fingers into Sam’s hair and gently pulls his brother’s head back. Sam’s eyes are dark and desperate, wide and imploring. Dean crushes their lips together, kissing him wild and nearly frantic. Sam whines into the kiss, hips still rocking down against Dean’s, hard and fast and erratic. Dean breaks the kiss with a sharp nip to Sam’s bottom lip. “Flip over for me, Sammy,” he half-growls, half-begs.   
  
Sam nods and pulls away, Dean’s hands on his hips helping him turn and settle on his hands and knees. Dean scrambles up behind Sam, fingers gripping Sam’s waist as he slams back into his brother. Sam cries out and tosses his head back, arching the long, sweat-slick line of his beautiful neck. Dean drapes himself over Sam’s back, unable to resist biting and sucking at the tanned expanse of skin. One hand on the mattress, one hand still on Sam’s lean waist, Dean pulls out and snaps his hips forward, hard and fast, burying himself as deep as possible.   
  
“Yes,” Sam hisses, eyes squeezed closed, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder.   
  
Sam pushes back into every nearly brutal thrust, back arching to tilt his hips up, the most addictive, beautiful sounds escaping his parted lips on every stroke. Dean shifts the angle just slightly and Sam shivers almost violently. Dean can see his fingers curling into the sheets and he can’t help but smirk, turning his head into the sweaty curve of his brother’s neck. “That the spot, baby boy?” he rasps.  
  
“Fuck, Dean,” Sam moans. “So good.”  
  
Dean mouths wetly at Sam’s thundering pulse, scraping his teeth over the sweat-salty skin. He makes sure to keep the same angle, hips snapping against Sam’s, his brother twisting and shoving back into each thrust. “More,” Sam begs breathlessly. “God, please, Dean. Harder, deeper.”  
  
Dean clenches his jaw and picks up the pace, fucking into Sam as hard and deep as he dares, not willing to risk hurting Sam no matter how much his brother begs. Sam just mewls and meets every snap of Dean’s hips, muscles flexing and rippling beautifully as he moves. Dean can feel heat expanding in his stomach, the base of his spine, his groin tightening. He forces his fingers to unclench from the death-grip he has on Sam’s waist and slides his hand over his brother’s quivering abs, intending to wrap his fingers around the thick, hard length of Sam’s cock and push him over the same edge that Dean is teetering on.  
  
But Sam shakes his head and turns to look back at him, eyes wide and a little wild. “Just this,” he breathes, leaning forward to kiss Dean, wet and messy.  
  
Dean pulls away enough to ask, “What?”  
  
“So close,” Sam rasps. “Gonna come, just like this.”  
  
It takes a few long moments for realization to hit and Dean’s cock twitches painfully in the tight clutch of Sam’s inner walls. “You mean…” he murmurs, soft and reverent. “Just from me fuckin’ you?”  
  
Sam nods, sweaty clumps of hair falling forward, sticking to his flushed cheeks. Dean groans harshly, fingers flexing against the muscles of Sam’s stomach, digging into his abs hard enough that it has to hurt. “Holy fuck, little brother,” he growls.  
  
Sam’s eyes slam closed, his entire body trembling almost violently, a sharp cry tearing from his throat. Dean can’t see it but he knows that Sam is coming, already tight inner muscles clenching and fluttering around Dean’s cock, pushing him over the edge, just a heartbeat behind his brother. Dean’s rhythm goes completely erratic, just mindless rutting, slamming into Sam as his release rips through him, pulsing inside Sam over and over. It seems to last forever, for both of them, and Dean does his best to make it as good as he can, to give his brother as much pleasure as possible.  
  
After a few long moments, Sam’s shaking arms collapse, sending them both crashing to the mattress. Dean can’t move even though he knows that he’s likely crushing his brother, at the very least making it extremely hard for him to breathe properly. Dean knows that he should at least roll off Sam’s back but his whole body feels like lead and his heart is still pounding in his chest. Sam doesn’t complain though.   
  
In fact, Sam doesn’t say a word.  
______  
  
Sam closes his eyes and focuses on nothing but the pounding of his own heart and his ragged breathing. Sure, he’s aware of Dean pressed against his back, his weight crushing Sam into the mattress, his still mostly-hard cock buried inside Sam. He can feel the pleasure still coursing through his veins, the shivery aftershocks of his orgasm, the slight ache in his ass and in every muscle in his body. It’s all on the periphery though.   
  
Dean nuzzles the back of his neck, lips brushing against one of the marks that Sam knows he bit into his skin, and Sam shivers slightly. “You okay?” Dean whispers against his ear, his warm, moist breath making him shiver again. His whole body feels over-sensitive, like one huge exposed nerve, but he can’t bring himself to move, or make Dean move for that matter.   
  
“I’m fine,” Sam whispers back.  
  
Sam doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to do anything to break the bubble surrounding them and let reality filter back in. Even though they talked and Sam thinks they worked things out – well, as much as they can at the moment – and he thinks that they’re on the same page, he can’t help but remember the first time they did this, how Dean switched right back into big brother mode and built those impenetrable walls up higher and thicker than ever as he all but kicked Sam out of his room, his bed. He can’t help but remember how he felt like nothing but a cheap one-night-stand. Can’t help but remember how much it fucking hurt.  
  
Dean pulls away, his softening cock slipping from Sam with a slow trickle of still-warm come that tickles as it slides down behind Sam’s balls. His weight lifts off Sam and Sam wants it back, misses it the second that it’s gone. He panics, can’t help it, his eyes snapping open as he tries to find some measure of strength left in his mostly useless body so that he can move, can get up and get  _out_ before Dean says anything.  
  
Dean settles next to Sam, their legs still tangled together, one arm heavy over Sam’s back, fingers curled around his hip. Dean’s head is resting on his other hand, those green eyes locked on Sam’s. Sam can’t look away, can’t find the strength he so desperately needs right now.  
  
“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Dean asks softly, fingers gently, seemingly absentmindedly, teasing at his hipbone.  
  
“Nothing’s wrong,” Sam argues automatically. He can’t tell Dean what he’s thinking and feeling, what he’s afraid of. He’s already laid himself too bare with his brother tonight. And that’s even before he ended up naked with his ass in the air. “Told you ‘m fine.”  
  
“Yeah, ya did,” Dean nods. His hand slides up Sam’s flank, over his shoulder, down his back, light and easy and gentle, like Dean’s just touching to touch. “And you seem to forget, little brother,” Sam can’t help the way his stomach swoops when Dean calls him that now, will probably never be able to hear those two words without an accompanying rush of arousal, “that I know you, kiddo. And I damn-well know that when you use the word fine, you’re anything but. So, spill.”  
  
Sam closes his eyes again, frowning in confusion. Dean’s touch is gentle, loving, but he sounds like Sam’s over-protective, at times over-bearing, big brother. Maybe navigating the change in their relationship isn’t going to be as easy as Sam hoped it would be.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean urges, hand now on his shoulder shaking him a little. “Free pass for a chick-flick moment,” Dean teases. “So talk to me.”  
  
Sam reopens his eyes and huffs out a soft sigh. “I’m okay, really,” Sam assures his brother quietly. “Promise.” Mostly he is. He’s pleasantly sore and he’s warm and boneless. He just wants to curl up in Dean’s arms and sleep for at least a day or two. Then wake up and do this again. The only problem he has is that he’s not sure if he’s going to be welcome in Dean’s room, his bed, much longer, least of all the rest of the night – or early morning actually – and the thought of being kicked out again hurts more than he wants to admit.  
  
Dean huffs a sigh as well and wiggles a little closer, his arm wrapping around Sam’s back. He kisses Sam’s shoulder, his legs tangling even more with Sam’s. “C’mon,” he murmurs, kissing his way up to Sam’s neck, tugging slightly at Sam’s side. Sam’s brow furrows but he allows his brother to tug and shift them around until they’re tangled together facing the right way in the bed, sharing the same pillow, their faces close enough that their noses are nearly touching. “’m freakin’ tired,” Dean sighs, his eyes finally fluttering closed.   
Sam nods even though Dean isn’t looking. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “You, uh, ya want me to leave so you can get some sleep?” he asks, hating how young and insecure he sounds.  
  
Dean doesn’t reply, just cuddles impossibly closer, the arm he has around Sam’s waist tightening just enough for Sam to get the unspoken command:  _Shut up, quit bein’ a dumbass and get some fuckin’ sleep._ Sam can’t help the smile that curls up his lips and he snuggles into his brother’s embrace, pressing as close as he can to his broad, strong, warm –  _safe, home_ – chest.   
  
“Knew there was somethin’ wrong,” Dean mutters, eyes still closed, mostly asleep. “First, you’re a dumbass. Second,” he sighs and opens his eyes. Sam can see the exhaustion in those emerald depths, knows it matches his own. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he whispers. Sam tilts his head and brushes a chaste, dry kiss to Dean’s lips. “I… I was bein’ a dumbass too. I shouldn’t’a let you walk away the first time.”  
  
“’s okay,” Sam whispers back, warmth blooming in his stomach, his chest.   
  
“Good,” Dean sighs, his eyes closing again. “Now get some fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, a slow smile curling up his plump lips. “Bitch.” Sam knows that he’s really saying  _I love you_ .   
  
Sam finally closes his own eyes, still smiling softly, and automatically replies, “Jerk.”  _I love you, too._   
  
No matter what happens, Sam knows that they’ll face it together. They’re stronger, better, together. And there’s nothing they can’t do as long as they remember that. 

  


 


End file.
